Suspicion (31 page)

  He looked surprised. "No kidding? How come?"

  "I don’t know. Rose, who plays bridge with the wife of the chief of police, tried to find out, but all Mrs. Landers knew was that Mitch Calhoon and Lieutenant Jarvis had an argument, possibly over the Gina Lamont murder, and Calhoon handed in his badge and walked out."

  "So what does that mean?"

  "Rose and I thought he may have found another suspect-one with possible connections to the police, which would explain why Jarvis was upset."

  Eric stood up and walked over to the window. If Megan was right, he thought as he surveyed the parking lot, this was the first break he’d had in the two and a half weeks since the murder, the first indication that someone in the police department didn’t believe he had killed Gina.

  "So, I was thinking," Megan went on, "that if we could go back and talk to him, ask him who he was investigating before his argument with Jarvis, we could go to an attorney, or even a private detective, and ask him to look into it."

  Eric let out a short laugh. "Sure," he said, turning around. "I can see us now, waltzing into a room full of aimed cops and sitting down with Calhoon for a cosy chat."

  "I had something else in mind."

  "Like what?"

  "Like calling him and asking him to meet us somewhere."

  "What makes you think he’ll agree to it? Or that he won’t try to ambush us."

  Megan sensed that his resistance was fading. "I have a good feeling about Mitch Calhoon. If he gives us his word that he won’t try anything like that, I’d believe him. If he doesn’t give us his word, we don’t go. It’s that simple"

  Eric attacked a cuticle on his middle finger and began to bite it furiously, something Megan had never seen him do before. She understood his anxiety, for she had a few of her own. What if she was wrong about Mitch Calhoon and he did turn them in? What would happen to Eric then?

  An eternity seemed to pass before Eric spoke again. "I’ll think about it." He crushed his empty coffee cup and tossed it in the trash basket. "That’s all I can promise you right now."

  Megan nodded. For the time being, the decision was out of her hands.

  "Hey, Dick Tracy! Right here."

  At the nickname Abdul and J.J. had given him, Mitch glanced to his right and saw that Abdul, a small but agile sixteen-year-old, was perfectly positioned under the basket and unguarded. Turning away from J.J., Mitch dribbled the ball twice, then threw it to his partner. With the grace of a swan, Abdul caught it in midair and executed a perfect hook shot.

  "Great shot, Abdul." Father Timothy O’Malley, dressed in gray sweats, came forward and slapped the youth’s hand in a high five.

  At thirty-one, the young priest could easily have passed for one of the many kids he counseled each week. He had the same youthful physique and an endless supply of energy that was the envy of everyone in the neighborhood.

  "And you," he said, clasping Mitch’s shoulder. "You didn’t do too bad, either, for an old man."

  "Yeah." J.J., who had teamed with Father O’Malley, winked at Tim as he swept his jacket from the gleaming gymnasium floor and tossed it over his shoulder. "We even heard some bones crack a few times, didn’t we, Padre?"

  Tim laughed. "Now that you mention it…"

  Mitch bent to fix an untied sneaker. "You know what you two are? Sore losers. But that’s all right. Any time you want a rematch, Abdul and I will be glad to oblige." He straightened and wrapped his arm around the youth’s shoulders. "And this time, we’ll really kick butt. Right now, however, this old man is beat."

  Not to mention, he thought, with a spring to his walk as they started to leave the indoor basketball court, that he was aching to have Kate in his arms again. Maybe that was the reason he had played with such enthusiasm tonight. He had been eager to finish the game early.

  Standing outside on the sidewalk beside Tim, he watched as the two boys waved and walked away.

  "You’ve done wonders with those two," Tim said. "When I think how hopeless they both seemed six months ago, I swear the change in them is nothing short of a miracle."

  "The miracle was all your doing, Tim. You gave them hope and a friend they could come to in times of need."

  "But you’re the one who provided the money to build this gymnasium and got them interested in basketball. It may not sound like much to you, but it sure made a big difference in their lives. And it made my work a lot easier." He watched Abdul disappear inside a doorway. "All the kids in this neighborhood are grateful for what you’ve done, but those two would walk through fire for you, Mitch."

  "And I’d do the same for them." He hoped his eager ness to call it a night wasn’t too obvious. "But at the moment, all I want to do is take a shower and go to bed."

  "Kind of early for you, isn’t it? How about a beer?"

  "Maybe another time."

  "All right. Good night, then, Mitch. And thanks for the game. Next time, give us a break and let us win, huh?"

  Mitch laughed. "I’ll think about it. Good night, Tim."

  As Father O’Malley started walking toward the rectory, Mitch headed for his town house only a block away. Mrs. Bonfield’s beagle was already barking, prompting an instant response from another dog down the street.

  "It’s okay, Bronco," Mitch called out, wondering for the hundredth time what had possessed his neighbor to give that name to such a small, harmless dog. "It’s just me."

  The beagle answered by barking even more furiously. "Fine," Mitch mumbled as he fished in his jeans pocket for his key. "Blow out your vocal chords. See if I care."

  As he reached his house, he realized that the front porch bulb was out, something he hadn’t noticed earlier. There was no time to replace it now. He’d have to do it tomorrow. Using the faint glow from Mrs. Bonfield’s light, he inserted the key into the lock and pushed the door open.

  He was inside his foyer and about to flip on the lights when he heard a noise behind him. He recognized it instantly. It was the unmistakable click of a switchblade being released.

  Not taking time to think, he spun around. Framed in the dark doorway was the bulky figure of a man. As the intruder raised his arm and prepared to leap, Mitch caught the glint of a blade.

  This time, the mysterious attacker hadn’t come to frighten, or to threaten.

  He had come to kill.

  Mitch reacted with the speed of lightning. Keeping his leg rigid as a board, he kicked, knocking the knife from the man’s hand. Then he kicked again, this time in the stomach and with enough force to send most men to their knees.

  To Mitch’s surprise, the man stumbled but didn’t fall. With his arms hanging at his sides like an ape, he lunged at Mitch, coming in low and wrapping his arms around Mitch’s midsection. They went down together in a tangle of limbs and curses. Under their weight, a small table crashed and broke into a dozen pieces.

  Mitch was the first one up. Grateful for the advantage, he tried to catch his breath and instantly regretted it. Quick as a whip, the man scrambled to his feet and lunged at Mitch again, slamming him against the wall. Mitch was about to deliver a blow to the solar plexus when he heard voices coming from the doorway.

  "Hey, Dick Tracy," Abdul called out, "what’s going on in there?"

  Before Mitch could shout a warning, Abdul and J.J. had sized up the situation and rushed Mitch’s attacker in a blind-side tackle that brought a foul curse from the man’s mouth. But the boys, although quick and tough, were no match for the intruder’s brute strength. As they made contact, he grabbed them by the seat of their pants and threw them in Mitch’s path.

  As all three fell to the ground, the man sprang toward the door and disappeared. By the time Mitch had untangled himself and run outside, the rear lights of a car he couldn’t identify were disappearing around the corner. A pursuit would have been pointless. In seconds, the car would be lost in the downtown traffic.

  Mitch hit the trunk of an oak tree with his fist, cursing himself for not reacting fast enough. "Shit."

  In a moment, Abdul was by his side, rubbing his head. "Who the hell was that dude?" he asked, squinting toward the street.

  "I wish I knew," Mitch mumbled. He glanced at J.J. who had come to join them. "Are you all right?" He looked from one boy to the other. "Both of you?"

  The two teenagers nodded. "I heard some serious pounding in there, and I knew right away you was in trouble, man." Abdul’s streetwise talk always seemed to resurface when Father O’Malley wasn’t around. "Me and J.J., we tried to deck him, but he was too damned strong. Like he was made of solid rock or somethin’."

  "You did fine." Mitch rubbed his stomach where the attacker had rammed his head. Solid rock was exactly what it had felt like. "One more second and I would have been chopped liver, so I’d say you came just in the nick of time." It wasn’t quite true, but he didn’t want Abdul and J.J. to think they had let him down.

  "Where was your gun?" Abdul asked.

  "I forgot it." He didn’t tell them he was no longer permitted to carry a gun, not even his own.38 revolver, which he kept in a bedroom drawer. "What were you guys doing here anyway? I thought you went home."

  Abdul pointed toward the front step where he had dropped a dark blue canvas bag. "You forgot your bag at the gym. I found it when I went back for my ball."

  J.J. looked up and down the street as if he expected to have another chance at the man. "What that dude want with you anyway?"

  "Offhand," Mitch said, "I’d say he came to kill me."

  Tom Spivak, who had been on duty when Mitch’s call had come in, stood in his friend’s living room. On the

  coffee table, loosely wrapped in a handkerchief, was the switchblade Mitch had knocked from his assailant’s hand. Next to it was a black glove that must have come off during the struggle. Abdul had found it in the foyer among the table debris.

  Tom studied the black-handled knife. "This baby could have done some damage."

  "You’re telling me." Mitch shook his head, still astounded that he had come out of the scuffle without a scratch. "The bastard must have unscrewed the lightbulb and hid in the bushes. That’s why the dog kept barking."

  Tom made an entry in his book. "What else can you tell me about the man apart from the fact that he was big, masked and mean?"

  Despite the close call, Mitch’s mouth twitched in a small smile. "It does sound like something out of a comic strip, doesn’t it?" Serious again, he added, "I don’t know who the guy is, but I’m sure he’s the one who killed Lilly Moore. And possibly Gina Lamont and Chuck Winslow."

  Tom glanced at the knife again, then the glove. "And you think Senator McKackney sent him to kill you?"

  "After McKackney’s visit to the gym the other morning and his not too subtle threat, I have no doubt whatsoever that he wants me out of the way."

  "Was anyone on the track besides the two of you?"

  Mitch shook his head. "The place doesn’t start filling up until about six. He must have known that or he would have found another way of approaching me." Restless, Mitch stood up and walked over to the window. "Where the hell is that ident team?"

  "Relax, will you? They’ll be here." Using the end of his pen, Tom lifted the glove off the table. "I don’t know

  about the knife, but I bet we can lift a couple of decent prints from the inside of that glove."

  Mitch didn’t have a chance to agree. Roy Johnson’s car had just pulled up in front of his town house.

  While the ident team dusted the entire foyer, Mitch called Kate.

  "I’m not going to be able to come after all," he said when she answered the phone. Trying to underplay the incident, he told her about his encounter with the masked man.

  Kate’s gasp was clearly audible. "Mitch, you could have been killed!"

  "But I wasn’t, so don’t lose any sleep over it, okay? What matters now is the man’s ID. Once we know who he is, the rest will fall into place. Maybe."

  "Why did he come after you, Mitch? Did Sean McKackney’s former classmate tell you anything important?"

  "Not a word. The guy suddenly came down with an acute case of memory loss. But he must have been scared enough to call McKackney right after I left and tell him I was snooping around."

  "We’ve got to go to the U.S. attorney with what we know, Mitch. I can’t have you risking your life again. The next time you might not be so lucky."

  Kate’s voice betrayed her fears, and he couldn’t blame her. If he wasn’t so keyed up about this incident, he’d be worried, too. "Let’s wait and see what the crime lab comes up with. If we can trace the man to McKackney, we’ve got a case. Otherwise, any move on our part would be premature." Mitch glanced at Roy, who was signaling he was finished. "I’ve got to go, babe. We’ll talk in the morning, okay? I should know something by then."

  "Mitch, wait! I almost forgot. Rose called me earlier. Megan Hollbrook is missing."

  "What?"

  "The manager of the bank where Megan and Abigail do business called to say that Megan had stopped by to withdraw ten thousand dollars from her account-in cash. Abigail is beside herself. She and Douglas are certain Megan heard from Eric and went to join him. For once I agree with them."

  Mitch smiled. As much as he disliked Eric for his weaknesses, he was glad Megan was with him. Being on the run, even for a short time, was a lot more pleasant with the woman you loved lying next to you at night.

  At eleven o’clock the following morning, Tom called Mitch with the crime-lab results.

  "There were only a few useless smudges on the knife," he said, "but Roy picked up a couple of good prints from the glove and from the floor in your foyer."