Chapter 27
I braced myself against the doorframe of the maintenance closet, mirroring Nick’s shock as a hush fell through the hall.
Nick blinked at his partner. “What did you just say?”
Joey lowered his voice. “They think Zhirov escaped early this morning. Correctional officers said they saw him in his cell before lights out last night. This morning, he refused to get out of bed, claiming he had a headache. The officer on duty said he never got a good look at whoever was in the bunk, but when they opened his cell this afternoon, the guy wearing Zhirov’s jumpsuit didn’t match any of the inmates on record.
They’re still trying to ID him, but they suspect he’s a Russian national. ”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Nick released Joey’s collar. “Has anyone talked to his attorney?”
“Kat’s slinging the usual crap. Claims she had no idea. She’s spinning it around, citing negligence on the department’s part, crying to anyone who’ll listen that her client had been receiving threatening letters and was probably abducted while he was in custody. She’s demanding an investigation.”
Nick raked a hand through his hair as he paced. “She’s full of shit. She and Zhirov are working this whole blackmail angle to their advantage. It’s all smoke and mirrors. Kat probably orchestrated the whole damn thing.”
“Careful,” Joey said, darting glances at the other cops lingering in the hall. “She’ll sue you for slander and take you for every cent you have.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“Want some more? Button up your shirt and fix your goddamn tie. The commander called. He’ll be here in an hour.”
Nick shot Joey a look as he fastened his button. “What’s he coming here for?” he asked, cinching his tie around his throat.
“He probably wanted to be the one to break the news to you. He knows how hard you’ve worked on this case.”
“Zhirov could be anywhere by now. There’s no way we’ll get him back in custody before his trial date.”
“Everyone’s looking for him,” Joey assured him, “including the feds. If he’s still on US soil, they’ll find him. Here,” he said, passing Nick a folded piece of paper. “This ought to make you feel better.”
“What is it?” Nick asked. I angled closer to the gap in the door, struggling to hear them as they lowered their voices.
“Sam’s been monitoring all the network traffic, looking for outgoing emails to that same address the crime scene photo was sent to last night. She found this one today.”
Nick’s eyes brightened as he read it. “There must be fifty businesses listed here.”
“Shell companies. All local.”
My fingers tightened around the doorframe. Shell companies. Like the one that owned the Aston Martin. The one Feliks set up in my name. Was FD Consulting on that list?
“What’s this number?” Nick asked.
“Sam thinks it’s an offshore bank account number. Looks like someone’s getting impatient. The blackmailer threatened to mail the list to you if Zhirov doesn’t comply.”
“When was this sent?”
“Around midnight last night. Whatever Feliks saw on this list must have spooked him.”
Nick shook his head. “Feliks doesn’t get spooked. He gets angry. Our blackmailer will be lucky if he’s not dead by morning.”
Joey’s phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. “I need to grab this call. I’ll ask Roddy and Georgia to help cover your next class. Take a few minutes and pull yourself together before the commander gets here.”
“Thanks, Joe. And hey,” Nick said as his partner turned to go, “I’m sorry I flew off the handle just now. I shouldn’t have.”
Joey’s eyes skated to mine through the crack in the door. “We’ve all done a few things we probably shouldn’t have.”
His footsteps retreated down the hall. The closet door opened abruptly, and I fell through the opening into Nick’s chest. He looked down at me, one eyebrow raised. “Did you get all that?”
I nodded, mustering a sympathetic grin. “Kind of hard not to.”
He held the door open for me, turning off the light and closing the closet behind us. The hall had emptied with the exception of a few stragglers. Vero stood off to the side with Roddy, their heads bent close, their faces sober.
“Where do you think Feliks will go?” I asked Nick.
“Not far. Zhirov’s too cocky to tuck tail and run. He’ll want to stay near his business.”
I wrapped my arms around myself. This was exactly what I feared he’d say.
Not only was Feliks free, but he was probably close.
And Feliks was far too proud to let EasyClean get away with playing these games with him.
He would want this resolved quickly. The citizen’s police academy was over in less than two days, and if I didn’t deliver EasyClean soon, I was certain Feliks would come looking for me.
“Hey,” Nick said, dipping his head to look me in the eyes, “I don’t want you to worry about Feliks. You and the kids are safe here. I promise.”
“Detective Anthony?” Nick and I turned as a uniformed officer rounded the corner, his face ruddy from the cold.
“Sorry to interrupt, sir, but there’s a problem at the front gate.
Some guy showed up, claiming he’s registered for the citizen’s academy and demanding to come in.
I checked his ID but he’s not on the roster.
The guy gave me a bogus license and he’s driving a rental car from New Jersey.
” Vero and I locked eyes across the hall.
“A couple of officers attempted to escort him off the grounds, but he got belligerent. When we searched him, he was carrying.”
Nick rubbed his eyes. “Where is he now?”
“Detained at the front gate.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“I should go find the kids,” I said. Nick took my hand as I tried to slip away.
“Hey,” he said in a low voice, “are we going to talk about what just happened in there?”
“Later,” I assured him, backing out of his reach. Someday, maybe we would talk about everything that had happened today—all the small truths I spilled and the big ones I probably should have but didn’t. For now, all I wanted was to find my kids. Nick was wrong. None of us were safe here.
When I left Nick by the maintenance closet, Vero and Roddy were nowhere in sight.
I rushed across campus toward the gym. Police lights swirled by the security gate.
Beyond the fence, a group of uniformed officers was gathered beside a patrol car.
A large man was detained in the back seat.
His eyes found mine through the window, trailing me as I pulled my hood over my face and hurried to find my kids.
I threw open the gymnasium doors, nearly dizzy with relief when I heard the unmistakable sound of my son’s peeling laughter echoing down the hall.
I followed the sound to the basketball court.
Zach’s diaper strained the fabric of his overalls, a trail of empty snack wrappers in his wake as he chased a bouncing ball down the court.
Roddy and Vero stood at the sideline, staring up into the bleachers.
Ty was stretched across a bench. One of his arms dangled over the side, his fingernails stained a garish shade of red.
Delia sat on her knees beside him, her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she colored his cheeks with a magic marker.
A smear of blue blanketed the closed lids of his eyes, and black lines radiated from them like exaggerated sunrays. He snored softly.
Vero’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. I clapped a hand over my mouth, terrified to wake him.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered to Roddy.
“Don’t be.” Roddy shook his head as he watched his partner sleep. “I had to call him three times just to get him out of bed this morning. He’ll learn a valuable lesson from this.”
“The correct application of lip liner is an important lesson for all of us.” The laughter Vero had been holding back burst out in a loud snort.
Delia looked up, blinked at us, and smiled. “Look, Roddy! Isn’t Ty pretty?”
Roddy flashed her a proud thumbs-up as Ty began to stir. Vero hid the last of her giggles behind her hand as he opened his eyes.
Delia patted his chest. “You’re all done,” she said, putting the cap on her marker. Ty sat up fast, the spider legs drawn around his eyes stretching wide as he put a hand to his face. “Remember to ethfoliate and moithturize. Vero says it’s very important.”
“It’s water soluble,” I called up to him as Vero laughed silently into her fist.
Roddy gave a startling clap of his hands. Ty looked up from his nails. “Nap time’s over, Rookie. We’ve got a class to cover. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”
Ty sprinted down the bleachers.
“Thanks, Roddy,” I said as he followed Ty to the door.
Roddy tipped his hat. “No thanks necessary. It’s a pleasure to serve.”
“You’re right,” I said to Vero as I watched them go. “There’s no way that man is EasyClean .” It was the only thing I felt certain of. And that after spending the afternoon with my children, Ty would probably never want kids of his own.
I turned back to the mess my son had made of the basketball court. His ball sat abandoned by the back wall.
“Where’s Zach?” My eyes darted to every corner of the gym. Delia glanced up from her markers and shrugged.
“Come on, Dee!” Vero grabbed Delia’s hand, towing her after me as I raced to the rear exit. It was the only door Zach could have escaped through without any of us noticing.
I shouted his name, catching a glimpse of his coat as he followed a group of students through a side door to the lecture halls, completely unnoticed.
I chased after them, impatiently swiping my card key and waiting for the locks to slide open.
Vero scooped Delia into her arms and followed me inside.
We called Zach’s name, dodging groups of students chatting in the hall.
I skidded to a stop beside Mrs. Haggerty. “Mrs. Haggerty! Have you seen…” She squinted up at me through the thick lenses in her rose-gold frames. “Never mind.”
Flashing lights caught my attention down the hall.
Over her shoulder, I spotted Zach’s blinking sneakers as they disappeared into a classroom.
I navigated around Mrs. Haggerty and sprinted down the hall.
Vero’s sneakers squeaked on the tile behind me as we skidded to a stop inside the classroom door.
A familiar man stood at the front of the room, the same man we’d seen standing behind a podium on the stage of the auditorium two days ago, right before his lecture with Peter. The name printed on the whiteboard behind him read DR. MOHAMMED SHARIF—FIREARMS EXAMINER.
“That’s the asshole that stole our bullet,” Vero whispered.
Dr. Sharif’s Adam’s apple bobbed as Zach stared at him across the room. He watched the blinking lights on my son’s shoes with a look of abject horror.
“I’m so sorry if he disturbed you.” I grabbed hold of my son to keep him from tackle-hugging the doctor’s legs. Zach giggled and the man flinched. Tiny beads of perspiration had begun forming on his forehead. “Dr. Sharif? Are you okay?”
The doctor’s eyes lifted to mine, recognition sparking. “You?”
I read his name again and glanced down at his shoes. “Mo?”
He backed into the whiteboard.
A police radio squawked and Roddy appeared in the doorway behind us. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, hiking up his belt. “Steven’s here.”
“Thank god,” I whispered.
Roddy plucked his mic from his vest. “Nick?”
“Copy.”
“Found ’em. I’ll have everyone escorted downstairs.”
Mo cried out. “Whatever this woman told you, Officer, I swear to you that I did nothing inappropriate in the restroom of the Walmart!”
Roddy frowned at him, his eyes ping-ponging between us.
I interjected before Mo could regale Roddy with our drama in the men’s room. “I’ll be down in a few minutes, Roddy. Dr. Sharif has generously offered to help me with some very important tool mark questions. Right, Doctor?”
Mo nodded emphatically. “I am happy to cooperate with this woman—and the police—in any way I can. Just please don’t make me go with you.”
“That was easy,” Vero muttered. “Roddy and I will go find the kids’ luggage and wait for you in the lobby.” The classroom door closed behind them as she led the children out.
Mo sagged, clutching his chest.
“The bullet Pete gave you,” I said, still a little out of breath, “I need to know anything you can tell me about the gun that fired it.” This man was my last hope for giving me anything…
anything at all that would help me identify EasyClean .
Feliks was loose and Marco clearly knew we were here, but if I could find out whose gun fired that bullet, there might still be time to give Feliks a name and negotiate with Kat for that duffel bag full of incentive money.
Mo searched frantically through the loose papers and books on his desk, plucking the bullet from a small plastic tray.
He carried it to a lab table, turned on a microscope, and set the bullet on the stage.
Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, he leaned over the eyepiece and adjusted the dials.
He studied it, using a set of tweezers to turn the bullet this way and that before removing it from the stage and passing it to me.
“The caliber is 9mm,” he said, gesturing for me to leave. “There’s quite a bit of damage.”
“That’s it?” I asked, refusing to budge. “Can’t you tell me anything else… a model number or something?”
He held open the door and nudged me through it. “Lots of models are compatible with 9mm rounds,” he said irritably. “All I can tell you is the name of the manufacturer. The rifling marks suggest it was fired from a Glock.”