Flawless (26 page)

O'Malley's attorney pointed out that they weren't required to do any such thing and that it could even work against them, then recommended silence.

Craig didn't blame the attorney; it was the man's job to protect his client.

To his relief, though, O'Malley didn't take the advice. He looked around at the others. “I say we do our best to help nail the bastards.”

The others nodded.

“When do you want these lists?” Wiener asked.

“I'll wait,” Craig said quietly, and motioned for a guard, who arranged for pens and paper. He tried not to fidget impatiently as the men worked on their lists.

At one point he excused himself and put through a call to Mike, who was in the process of changing shifts with Marty. They arranged to meet at the pharmacy to see what they could find out about the mystery phone.

Finally, with the four lists in his hand, Craig left Rikers. He felt a growing urgency as he wove through traffic. As he drove, he used Bluetooth to call Wally back at the office and, keeping one eye on the traffic and the other on the pages propped on the steering wheel, dictated the names, many of which were duplicates, from the lists.

He arrived at the pharmacy a few minutes after 4:00 p.m. Mike was already there.

“Marty all settled in?” Craig asked.

“He is. He's a good kid, you know, and he's going to be a good agent. Yeah, he's by the book. But he'll watch over Kieran like a hawk. And since I suspect you're interested, Bobby O'Leary is doing very well. He's starting to chomp at the bit. He's missing his bar stool at Finnegan's.”

“They're not letting him out of the hospital for a few days, right?” Craig asked. At the hospital, with a cop on guard at all times, Bobby was far safer than he would be out on the streets.

“Until the end of the week,” Mike told him.

Until the end of the week.

Some cases took months, others took years. And now all Bobby had was a few more days of relative safety.

He didn't voice his unease; he knew Mike was as aware as he was of the difficulty of such a short timeline.

They were standing at the back of the store when a door between athlete's foot medications and heating pads opened and the manager stepped out. He saw Mike and looked questioningly at Craig.

“My partner,” Craig explained, and he introduced the two men.

“Yes, of course. Would you like to come into the office? Bailey Headley is on her way to speak with you.”

They had barely entered the small one-desk office cluttered with samples, from condoms in bright yellow wrappers to children's toothpaste decorated with popular television dinosaurs, when Bailey came in. She was in her midthirties, mixed race, a pretty woman sporting a multicolored Afro.

Craig produced his badge and thanked her for seeing them.

Her eyes widened. “Anything I can do,” she assured him.

“We realize we're taking a stab in the dark here, but a little less than two months ago you sold a no-contract cell phone for cash. We're hoping against hope that you remember who bought it, since very few people use cash these days,” Craig explained. “I know it was a while ago, but...”

Bailey frowned, and then she gasped. “I do remember.”

“You do?” Mike asked, stunned.

“A complete asshole! That's why I remember,” she said. “Plus it was the only phone I sold that day.”

The manager, standing behind her, said, “Now, Bailey, we don't talk about our customers that way.”

She turned to look at him. “Not in front of them, but I'm trying to help the FBI.”

Apparently, that made it all right, because Rowe shrugged and backed off.

Bailey gave her attention back to the two agents.

“Seriously,
such
a jerk. So demanding, making all these special requests for time and data, and all for the cheapest phone we carry. It took forever, and then not even the courtesy to say thank you. Boy, did I wish I hadn't been behind the phone counter that day.”

Craig glanced quickly at Mike.

“Was he a tall, dark-haired man?” Mike asked.

“Man?” Bailey said, surprised. “It wasn't a man. It was a woman.”

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

DESPITE THE FACT
that someone wanted her dead, Kieran reached the end of her workday and counted her blessings. The biggest, of course, was that she was still alive.

On top of that, she'd been to see Bobby, and he was doing great.

She'd managed to rewrite her report and make it seem that she had added to it when she had really only rearranged a few lines.

Tanya Lee Hampton, according to a call from the public defender's office, had been reunited with her children, and while the state was still going to press charges, her husband had said that he wouldn't testify against her in court. Why such a man had suddenly decided to act in a decent manner, Kieran wasn't sure. Apparently all he wanted now was a divorce, which Tanya was happy to give him.

She shut down her computer, picked up her coat and purse, and joined Marty Salinger, who'd been reading magazines in the reception area. He flushed at being caught reading the newest
People
magazine, but she just smiled and didn't say a word.

Marty was a likable guy, and she was glad not to be alone. She knew that both Mike and Craig carried their weapons in waistband holsters in the small of their backs; Marty wore a vest, and his holster and gun were on his hip, visible when he rose to set down the magazine.

“Hey,” he said. “You're ready?”

“I am, thank you,” she said, and couldn't help glancing at the magazine.

He glanced at her and then flushed again. “I love movies, and I don't get a lot of leisure time.”

She smiled. “Did you read about all the Hollywood remakes coming up? So ridiculous. Some of those movies shouldn't have been done once.”

His face brightened. “You're so right!”

Jake rose to say goodbye, and she got the feeling that he and Marty might have done some talking, since Jake was a movie buff, too.

“Me first,” Marty said, stepping out into the hall ahead of her. He kept her behind him all the way to the car.

He had a little trouble getting out of the parking space, but she pretended not to notice.

“Sorry, I don't get a car too often,” he told her. “In all honesty, this is only my fourth time on guard duty. I do work in the field, but the older, more experienced guys get most of the real action. I'm on my way, though. I got to partner with Craig when Mike was out recuperating.”

He said that with the same kind of pride a contender for an Oscar might have felt.

She smiled. “Congratulations.”

“Mike has twenty-four years with the Bureau, and Craig has over a decade.”

“They must like their jobs,” she said.

“It's not a job,” he said seriously. “It's a way of life.”

They reached Finnegan's, and of course he gave her very explicit instructions on how she was to exit the car and allow him to block her as they walked in.

She looked around.

Declan and Kevin were behind the bar, and Danny was working the floor with Debbie and Mary Kathleen.

Jimmy was at one of the bar tables...with Gary Benton. She stifled a groan. The other tables were full, too, and the bar itself was crowded.

It was a typical happy hour, but on a Monday, it would thin out soon enough.

“See anything out of place?” Marty asked.

She shook her head.

“Okay, good. But don't forget, I'm still on duty,” he said gravely.

“Okay,” she said, looking around. The only empty seats were in the dining room. “I'm going to go help out behind the bar. Want to watch me from there?” she asked, pointing to one of the tables.

“I'd rather hang around the bar, where I'll be close by in case I'm needed,” he said. “You have any nonalcoholic beers?”

“Of course,” she told him, smiling, “but we also have coffee, soda and iced tea.”

“I should look like I'm drinking,” he decided. “Nonalcoholic beer.”

“All right.”

Declan looked up as she walked behind the bar, then stowed her purse and jacket.

“Who's the kid?”

“FBI agent,” she said.

“Kind of young,” he said.

“We're not exactly old,” she reminded him.

He grinned. “You have a point. And I'm glad he's with you.”

“He's okay. Not quite Mike. Or Craig.”

“No, I guess not,” Declan said, turning his attention back to the glasses he was washing, but she could see him grinning.

Apparently everyone knew that something was going on between her and Craig.

“Gary is here,” she said.

“I know.” Declan looked up at her again. “He came and asked me if it was all right. I said since Julie was at the hospital with Bobby tonight, it was okay.”

“He should really find somewhere else to go,” she said.

Declan sighed. “Look, anytime Julie is here, we'll ask him to leave. What do you want me to do? Ask Jimmy McManus to find another place to hang out, too?”

“No, but...”

“We're a pub, Kieran. I know he treated her like crap, but plenty of people like him, and I don't want to turn this place into Julie's camp versus Gary's. Just let it go for tonight, okay? Stay away from his table. Debbie's been waiting on them. You don't need to go near him.”

“Okay,” Kieran said. “Okay. For tonight.”

She looked over at the table and saw Gary looking straight back at her.

Suddenly he said something to Jimmy, then rose and headed toward the door.

He turned back to stare at her one last time, and then he left.

She decided it was time to have a chat with Jimmy.

And steal a phone.

* * *

Bailey was hugely helpful, and the more she described the customer, the more the woman sounded like someone Mike and Craig knew.

They exchanged a look as Bailey spoke.

Short brown hair.

Tall.

Perfectly manicured nails. Bailey said she'd admired the bloodred polish on the customer's long nails until she'd begun to think the woman intended to scratch her eyes out with them.

“Lots of women have short brown hair,” Mike said.

“And are tall.”

“Bailey, would you mind working with a sketch artist?” Craig asked. “Mr. Rowe, I know that Bailey just got to work, but—”

“If she's needed,” Rowe said, “she must go. And you'll receive your full pay for your shift, Bailey.”

“Thanks,” she said, sounding surprised. Then she turned back to Craig and Mike. “I'm ready to go whenever you are,” she said.

She picked up her jacket and purse, and they headed out of the office into the store.

Craig heard the soft whizzing sound in the air and knew exactly what it was. And why.

Someone had seen Bailey going into the inner office with them. Someone had been watching, knowing Bailey just might remember who'd bought the phone. Someone had been keeping tabs on their investigation.

“Down!” he shouted, just as shelves of toilet paper exploded in a ripple of white snow.

Someone had fired a gun, a gun with a silencer.

He covered Bailey Headley's body with his own while he drew his Glock. Mike was up first, ducking and running down the aisle.

“Shit!” Mike shouted.

By then Craig was up, too, and he saw Mike heading out to the sidewalk in pursuit of the shooter. Meanwhile people were screaming, and Bailey was lying facedown on the floor, repeating over and over, “I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die!”

“He's gone—the shooter is gone,” Craig said quickly. “Dial 911!” he ordered Rowe, who was standing just outside the office door, shaking in shock. “
Now
, man. Do it! And get Bailey into the back!”

Then Craig was on the move, chasing after Mike. Mike was dogged and fast, but Craig was grateful he was faster.

Outside, people were already milling in fear, asking questions, looking as if they didn't know which way to run.

Craig got a glimpse of Mike sprinting toward the cross street and raced hard in that direction.

He entered an alley just in time to see Mike disappear behind a delivery truck. He hopped over a box of garbage and followed.

Mike was standing in the alley ahead of him, looking up at the various fire escapes behind the buildings. His Glock was raised, but he was looking in the wrong direction.

Craig saw the shooter; he was on the opposite side of the alley, high on a fire escape. He had his gun trained on Mike.

“Mike!” Craig roared.

Mike dropped just as the shooter fired. The bullet slammed into a wall.

“Drop it!” Craig ordered, his own gun aiming upward.

The shooter's gun turned toward him.

Craig had no choice but to fire.

The shooter catapulted down from the fire escape to land with a heavy thud on the broken pavement of the alley.

Mike got to his feet, and they both hurried over to the body.

The dead man had been wearing a hoodie, but the hood had fallen away as he fell, and Craig gasped.

He knew that face.

No time to worry about that now. He hunkered down to feel for a pulse, while Mike called in the shooting.

No pulse. The man was dead. He'd bled out from the hole in his heart.

It occurred to Craig suddenly that it had all gone down by the book. He regretted the fact that he'd had to kill the man.

Because he knew him. He'd seen him before. Several times. At Finnegan's. With Jimmy.

It seemed obvious. He'd been at the pharmacy to kill Bailey Headley before she could give anyone a description of the woman who had purchased the phone.

The sound of sirens filled the air.

He hung his head. It would be hours now before he could leave. Hours before he could get to Finnegan's.

And he had never before felt such an urgency to be there.

* * *

Kieran didn't have to wait for the news to hear about the shooting.

Marty filled her in.

He was proud to be on duty all night, watching over her and the pub. Although, as he was quick to assure her, he wasn't alone.

Detective Mayo had sent in several officers, two in uniform and two in plain clothes. The two in uniform were there to be imposing. The two in plain clothes were there for backup.

She had to admit she was worried, though also hugely relieved that Craig and Mike were all right. But, she reminded herself, she had promised to steal a cell phone.

Even with the place filled with cops and Marty there watching her, stealing Jimmy's phone was, as she had promised Craig, a piece of cake.

She sat at the table with Jimmy for a few minutes while he told her about stocks and bonds.

She didn't know much about either one and had no real idea what he was talking about, but she pretended to pay attention.

His phone was sitting on the table. She was easily able to lean toward him on an elbow as if fascinated by what he had to say, and ease it off onto her lap.

She could always say she had found it on the floor, but she doubted it was ever going to come to that. People lost phones at Finnegan's all the time. She was pretty sure that Jimmy had left his on the bar more than once.

But after Jimmy had left and with his phone tucked safely in her pocket, they all stopped to watch the news and suddenly it all seemed so much more immediate and terrifying than when Marty had told her about it.

She found herself shaking with relief when the reporter on the scene emphasized that no one other than the shooter, who had died at the scene, had even been injured.

“Live by the sword, die by the sword,” a customer at the bar murmured.

Others echoed the sentiment. If a guy was shooting at innocent people in a pharmacy, it was probably a damned good thing that he'd gotten shot instead.

A lot of people left after that, and it turned into a quiet night. Kieran didn't want to leave, so she decided to take advantage of all the empty tables to start scrubbing them down with the special polish they used to protect the wood.

She was on the third table when she found scratches that annoyed her. She tried to polish them out at first, then realized that they went too deep, that someone had written on a piece of paper and pressed down so hard that the impression had gone through to the wood.

“Idiots,” she murmured to herself. “Would they do something like this at home? I don't think so.”

But just as she realized that they were going to have to sand the table to even out the surface, she paused. She'd seen Jimmy here the other night along with Gary and the two unknown men—the dark guy and the Nordic-looking guy.

She hesitated, then headed back to the office and found paper, a pencil and a heavy jade paperweight, before returning to the table. The impression was so faint that she hoped the paperweight would give her the pressure she needed to make it readable.

She almost crashed into Marty; she'd forgotten that he was there, watching over her.

“Please don't go off without telling me,” he asked her.

“I'm sorry. I just needed something from the office.”

“Just tell me when you're going to disappear, okay?”

“I'll tell you next time, I promise.”

Marty nodded, apparently appeased, and she hurried back to the table. She realized that he was watching her closely and tried to appear nonchalant about what she was doing.

It was trickier than stealing a phone, but she managed to make it appear that she was trying to remove a spot, when in reality she was rubbing the paper into the indentations with the paperweight. A faint impression began to emerge on the paper, and she began to use the pencil to capture what had been written.

She almost couldn't believe her eyes when something legible began to appear.

It was an address, but she couldn't quite make it out. At first she thought it said Forty-Second Street.

The Theater District?

Then she realized that the number was a forty-seven. The address was on Forthy-Seventh Street near Fifth Avenue.