Deadly Intent (39 page)

“How ‘bout I do it to you up your ass, Rambo chick? Would you like that?” He snickered. “I bet you would. You look the type.”

John watched Tina closely, knowing she had a short fuse, but her expression didn’t change. “You can shut your mouth, and call your attorney, or you can do your yapping in a cell and hope I don’t get one of my memory lapses and forget you’re in there.”

Garcia sneered. “You ain’t so tough. And what about you, copper?” he said to John. “You ain’t got the balls to interrogate me, so you’re letting a broad do it? What kind of man are you?”

Tina yanked the phone back. “That does it.” She nodded to the uniform standing by the door. “Lock him up.”

“Wait!” Arturo sat up. He glared at Tina, but knew when he was beat. “All right. I’ll do it your way.”

Without a word, Tina pushed the phone back toward him and motioned for the officer to uncuff him. “Keep it short.”

More subdued now, Garcia dialed a number. John noted

with satisfaction that he punched the keypad with the index finger of his left hand. The noose around the man’s neck had just gotten a little tighter.

“Hey, Tone,” Arturo said, his eyes on Tina. “I’ve been arrested, man. Murder.” He let out an oath in Spanish. “Shut up, Tone, and listen, okay? I need a lawyer. Right away, okay, Tone? ‘Cause I ain’t spending one stinkin’ night in this place.”

He listened for a few seconds and looked at Tina. “Where the fuck am I?”

John answered. “Princeton Township P.D. on Wither spoon.” He said it loud enough for “Tone” at the other end to hear.

“You got that, bro?” When Garcia had his answer, he hung up and let the officer cuff him again. “I ain’t sayin’ a word until my lawyer gets here. You got that?”

“Who’s Tone?” John asked.

Arturo thought for a while and must have figured there was no harm in answering the question. “My brother, Tony.”

“Your brother traveled with you from El Paso?”

Arturo’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know I’m from El Paso?”

“Oh, we know a lot of things about you, Arturo. We know you tried to attack a woman at Lake Carnegie moments after you stabbed Ian McGregor to death.”

“Don’t know any Ian McGregor.”

‘ ‘What about Ben DiAngelo? That name ring a bell?”

He frowned as though deep in thought. “That the kid that was kidnapped?”

“That’s right.”

“Why ask me?”

“Because you were seen parked outside his school yesterday. Why were you there, Garcia?”

“Checking out the female teachers. Some of them broads are hot, man.”

“I wouldn’t be such a smartass if I were you.” Tina leaned toward him, wincing slightly when she caught a whiff of his breath. “We’ve got you for murder, assault with a deadly weapon and kidnapping. I’m no judge, but offhand, I’d say that’s worth about a hundred years in the can. You’ve been around, Garcia. What do you think? Am I in the ballpark?”

“You’re bluffing. You can’t make those charges stick.”

“Tell him I’m not bluffing, John.”

“She’s not bluffing. Abbie DiAngelo just identified you as the man who attacked her at the lake on June 6. We also have two witnesses who swear you were at the Clearwater Motel on the afternoon of Ian McGregor’s murder. And then you did something that wasn’t very bright, Arturo. You left your fingerprints all over McGregor’s room. As for your knife, I haven’t heard from forensics yet, but I’m fairly certain your switchblade will turn out to be the same kind that killed your old buddy. Now, do you still think we can’t make those charges stick?”

When Arturo didn’t answer, John said casually, “We’re ready to make a deal with you, Garcia. Want to hear it?”

Arturo stayed silent.

“We’re willing to drop the assault charge and let you plead down from murder one to self-defense. All you have to do is tell us where Ben DiAngelo is.”

“Are you guys deaf? I don’t know where Ben DiAngelo is! I didn’t take him!”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. The officer closest to it opened it, and a man who looked as if he was barely out of school stood in the doorway. He wore a gray pinstriped suit and carried a leather briefcase without a single trace of wear and tear on it. He looked nervous,

as if this case was too big for him. His expression when he saw his client would have been amusing if the moment hadn’t been so serious. The thought the attorney might bolt at any time crossed John’s mind for a moment, but to the man’s credit, he gave a shaky smile and stepped into the lion’s den.

Behind him was another nervous-looking young man John recognized instantly as the Ricky Martin look-alike he had seen in Enrique’s garage.

“Who are you?” he asked, but had already guessed his identity.

“Tony Garcia. I’m Arturo’s brother.”

“And I’m Jason Hardell,” the man in the sharp suit said. “From legal aid.”

John made the introductions and all three shook hands. Hardell gave Arturo a nervous look. “Is that my client?”

“In the flesh,” Tina replied. She briefed Hardell on the various charges. When she mentioned kidnapping, the young attorney’s eyes bulged. He turned to Tony Garcia. “Kidnapping?” He swallowed. “You didn’t tell me that. Who is he supposed to have kidnapped?”

“Ben DiAngelo,” Tina offered. “And since time is of the essence, I suggest you talk to your client and convince him to tell us where the boy is. We have a deal on the table I think is fair, but he’s playing hardball and our patience is wearing thin.”

Hardell stole another glance in his client’s direction, and looked as if he was about to pass out. John always considered inexperienced attorneys a gift from heaven, but not today. Hardell might lack the firmness needed to convince Arturo to cooperate. He glanced at Tony, wondering if he might have better luck with the brother.

“May I speak to my client in private, please?” Hardell asked.

“Certainly.” John, Tina and Tony waited outside until the attorney reopened the door ten minutes later. He looked pale, but otherwise calm.

“My client can’t accept your offer.” Hardell looked from Tina to John. “I’m sure you know why.”

John had a sinking feeling he did, but shook his head.

“Arturo didn’t kidnap Ben DiAngelo. He thought about it, because he figured that was the only way he could get his hands on Ms. DiAngelo’s forty-eight thousand dollars, but there were too many people at the school, too much chaos. He couldn’t pull it off.”

John saw Tina’s shoulders sag a little. “You believe him?” he asked.

Some of the attorney’s confidence had returned. “Yes. Just as I believe that he killed Ian McGregor in self defense.”

“So he admits it.”

“My client wants to cooperate, Detective.”

“Is he ready to make a statement?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go.”

By the time John returned to his desk, Abbie and Claudia were still there. Abbie stood up, but this time she didn’t say anything. She just looked at him expectantly, as though he should be the bearer of good news.

He hated what he was about to tell her. “Arturo didn’t take Ben.”

“What do you mean, he didn’t take Ben? Of course he did. You heard what Ken said. Arturo was at the school.”

“He didn’t do it, Abbie. There was too much going on and he got scared. He confessed to killing Ian, in self defense, and of attacking you, but that’s all he did.”

“He’s lying! He knows what the penalty for kidnapping is and he’s lying.”

“He didn’t do it, Abbie. I talked to the people at the Cyber Cafe. They didn’t see anyone who even remotely resembles Arturo. And Henrietta swears he’s been with her since two o’clock this afternoon.”

“And you believe her?” Abbie let out a dry laugh and walked around in small circles, like a caged animal. “What’s the matter with you, John? A couple of hours ago you believed Arturo had kidnapped Ben as much as I did. Now you don’t.” She let her arms drop by her sides. Her eyes were dark with disappointment and resentment. “Would you give up this easily if it was Jordan who was missing?”

“I’m not giving up. I just don’t believe in wasting time and energy on the wrong suspect.”

‘ ‘And who would be the right suspect?” she asked sarcastically. “Professor Gilroy?”

“He’s a possibility.”

“You’re wrong. Oliver stopped by the restaurant earlier. Did you know that? He came to ask Brady how I was holding up and if there was anything he could do. When Brady told him to pray for Ben’s safe return, he said he already had but he would again. Now tell me, does that sound like something a psychotic killer would do? Would he be so bold as to come to my restaurant and say those things if he had kidnapped my son?”

John’s experience told him yes, that was exactly what a clever psychotic killer would do, but explaining his philosophy to Abbie was pointless. She was too upset with him right now to see things in a logical manner. She had wanted the kidnapper to be Arturo. She had counted on it, and now the letdown was like an ice-cold shower.

He turned to Claudia, who had stayed discreetly out of the way. “Please take her home, Claudia. See that she gets some sleep.”

Abbie gave him a withering look and walked out.

Forty-One

At eight o’clock the following morning, after only three hours’ sleep, John called Abbie’s house. She had been upset with him yesterday afternoon, and while he understood her frustrations, he didn’t want to let this wall build between them at a time like this.

Rose Panini answered on the first ring.

“Rose. What are you doing there?”

“Claudia needed to catch up on her sleep,” she said in a low whisper, “so I came to relieve her.”

“Is Abbie there?”

“She’s sleeping, John, right here in the kitchen easy chair. I don’t think I should wake her up, unless you’ve got good news.”

“I wish I had. And you’re right to let her sleep. Sergeant Tyler showed up okay?” he asked, inquiring about the police technician who had been sent to install a tracer on Abbie’s phone.

“Yes, but no one called yet, just friends and neighbors.”

Promising he’d call back later, John hung up. No sooner had he put the receiver down than his father called with startling news.

“Seems your man is a bit of a fibber, son.”

John’s ears perked up. “In what way?”

“To begin with, he’s not a widower. His wife divorced him about a year before Gilroy moved to the U.S. She is

alive and well and living in a little cottage somewhere in the Cotswolds. Secondly, he doesn’t have a daughter, or a grandson.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No. The Gilroys were childless. And your professor has never been back to England.”

“Is Lyman sure about that?”

“As sure as a close associate can be. To his knowledge, Professor Gilroy hasn’t set foot in England since the day he landed in the U.S. He spends his vacations either in the Caribbean, which he loves, or here at home, where he likes to tinker with his trains. That’s a hobby of his—trains.”

“I know.” John was stunned. Why would the man claim to have a bogus family he visited every year when he didn’t? And why had he chosen Abbie to tell that lie to?

“I don’t suppose you thought of asking where Gilroy lives by any chance?” he asked his father.

He heard the smug chuckle at the end of the line. “Have you ever known me to do a half-assed job?”

John smiled. “Not to my recollection.”

“Professor Gilroy lives in Princeton Township, 7 Ridge View Road.”

Gilroy’s Tudor-style house stood poised at the top of a hill, clearly visible from the road, yet far enough from neighboring homes to afford complete privacy. John had taken a chance the professor would be home and was prepared to wait if he wasn’t. Fortunately he didn’t have to. A black Town Car in the driveway and movements in one of the front rooms told him the good professor was home.

Gilroy opened the door himself, looking as dapper as he had the day John had seen him at Campagne.