Untitled (23 page)

  After meeting with Rashad, Marshall thought long and hard about his brother. Moses' words echoed in his head over and over. So, that morning, he'd requested that his brother be transferred to the federal jail. It wouldn't hurt to have him safe, just in case he did have something.

  The Johnson crime scene lingered in his memory. He kept seeing the cryptic words in blood, and Mrs. Johnson's head being pulled from the chimney. Sommers still had nothing on the case. The pattern matched nothing they had, and no other similar killings had occurred since.

  Marshall's gut told him it was a fake, and if he was right, he might yet need Moses' information not just for the case but also to save his career.

  "I hate this shit," Danny whispered. "See that fat one there, that's Vinny's sister, Renitta. One time, she did one of them things they do for drug addicts, to stop her from seeing me."

  "An intervention?" asked Marshall.

  "Yeah, that's it," said Danny. "The whole family held her hostage for an hour, tellin' Vinny how she shouldn't see me."

  "That's serious, man."

  "Fuckin' right, it was. But Vinny, she came home, and told me about it, and we laughed like hell. But I was pissed about it, you know, inside. That Renitta is an evil-ass bitch."

  Renitta heard Danny's voice and shot him a mean look.

  "Did you say something to me?" asked Renitta. She was a hefty woman, one of those who was big and proud of it.

  "I was talkin' to my man here," said Danny. "Not you."

  "Uh-huh," said Renitta. "Tell him about how you almost got my baby sister killed trying to be Dirty Harry."

  "I know all about it," said Marshall.

  Renitta gave Marshall a nasty look, then waddled back to Vinny, who was stuffing her face with a rib bone.

"Let's get out of here," said Danny.

  Marshall and Danny stepped outside, then walked away from the overflow crowd waiting to see Vinny. A couple of the men gave Danny cold looks as he and Marshall walked by.

  "You know as bad as my career is, I'm more upset about the way these muthafuckas are looking at me right now."

  "Forget about them. Vinny is all right, and you need to get your damned career back on track."

  "I got a hearing coming up," said Danny. "That lawyer you got me, Connerly, that guy is good, man."

  "I told you."

  "He got my pay reinstated, and he intimidated the shit out of the IAD."

  "IAD? What the fuck are they in this for?"

  "Routine. Besides I got a bad rep, remember? They're always sniffing around, looking to jam you up, you know."

  "So, the police investigation board can't condone what you did to that robber, but they can give you a slap on the wrist."

  "That's what I'm hoping for," said Danny. "So, I'm cool for now, but you, man, how the fuck did your witnesses get waxed by a serial killer?"

  "I don't think they were," said Marshall. "The media has been all over it saying that, but they don't know what I know. That crime scene wasn't . . . evil, you know."

  "Yeah, I do know," said Danny. "There's a sick, nasty-ass humanity that you see at a killing."

  "Right, and it wasn't there. That crime scene was damned near clinical, too planned and set up."

  "If it was, then you got some big-ass trouble, my brotha. I remember a couple of years back, some dirty cops were mixed up with this drug gang called the Union."

  "I remember that. A lot of people went to jail."

  "It came back to bite everyone in the ass. And all the clean guys who were looking the wrong way got caught up in the shit. You need to watch your back because if your house is dirty, you might be next."

  Marshall sat in silence for a moment, the gravity of Danny's words upon him. Danny was a lot of things and cer tainly no one to be giving advice these days, but he did know crime. In that area, he was an expert.

  Marshall and Danny decided to go out and get something to eat. Vinny's people had brought a lot of food, but Danny didn't dare ask for any. They were walking out of the lobby when Marshall's cell phone rang. He fumbled to take it out of his pocket.

  "Marshall," he said.

  "This is Sommers. I kinda got a situation."

  "Shoot."

  "You know you could have told me what you were doing with your fucking brother," said Sommers. "Maybe if you had, he wouldn't have escaped tonight."

  Marshall almost dropped the phone. He wanted to ask her to repeat what she had just said, but he had heard her right. Moses had gotten away in transport.

  "How—where are you?"

  "I'm at county. A little riot broke out and in the commotion your brother escaped before the agents could do the transfer."

  "I'll meet you there," said Marshall. He hung up. Sommers was obviously pissed. He hadn't told her about his brother because he was growing distrustful. But she was right, if he had let her do the transfer, she would have gone herself, and Moses would probably be in jail instead of out on the street, probably on his way out of the state. And the worst thing was, he still had the information Marshall sought.

  "I gotta go, Danny. I had Moses transferred, but he escaped."

  "Damn, that sneaky bastard," said Danny. "Okay, I can get some guys on the street and—"

  "Danny, you're not a cop right now. You just get some food and go back to Vinny. I'll call you."

  Danny stood for a moment as the statement settled upon him. He was not a cop, and that fact had just slammed home.

  Marshall took off running toward his car. The night was cold and a light snow was falling. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his body already. He was angry, excited, and just a little scared.

  "Watch your back," he heard Danny yell behind him.

* * *

Marshall stood next to Agent Sommers as Spoon talked to an FBI agent from a stretcher. He had been hit by the spray of the riot gun, but he was okay. By the time the riot had been contained, Moses was gone.

  Sommers was pissed and had barely looked at Marshall when he arrived.

  "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," said Marshall. "This thing with my brother wasn't something that you were supposed to be concerned with. I'll tell your superiors that it was not related to our case."

  "They won't care. Not calling me in was a matter of trust, or more to the point, a lack of it. It hurts me no matter what you say."

  "I know you're pissed, but we have got to find him. He's got a lot of friends out here in the street."

  "I'll find him," said Sommers, "but I can't guarantee that he'll be in one piece after we do."

  "None of that shit," said Marshall. "I need him alive. We are not in the revenge business, Agent, we're in the justice business."

  Sommers didn't say anything. She walked off and talked to some of her men. Marshall hated to be so nasty with her. It was really Moses that he was angry with. The little bastard had gotten away and put Marshall in deep shit once again. He realized in that instant that relatives are either a lifelong blessing or a lifelong curse. Moses was certainly the latter.

  He was worried. He had only moved to transfer Moses because of his suspicions about the Johnsons.

  
"If your house is dirty, you might be next,"
he heard Danny's voice say.

  Marshall's mind was racing with the possibility of a conspiracy. He could no longer deny it: recent events made it easier for him to win the case. The Johnsons can testify that Mbutu was not the man, and suddenly they're dead in a manner that arouses suspicion.

  The trial would be starting soon, and he'd be totally immersed in litigation and media coverage. Going to trial was like submerging yourself in water. The process enveloped you, and the way you had to focus your attention was much like holding your breath.

  Suddenly, he was scared. If there were shadowy forces at work then they were inside the government itself. He was not afraid for himself but for the innocents he knew. Ruthless people didn't care about guilt; anyone in the path of their goal was expendable. He thought about Chemin and Danny. If anything happened to them because he was underwater during litigation, he knew that he'd never be able to live with himself.

  He was going to have to be more than a prosecutor now. He had to be a cop, a soldier, and a detective as well. Trouble was coming, and it felt like staring into a train's light in a dark tunnel.

  Marshall watched as they put Spoon into the ambulance. He wondered where his brother was and how they would find him in his natural habitat, the violent and dangerous underbelly of the city.

M
arshall listened quietly as Sommers raged on in his office. He was cool. He sat and let her go. If his marital difficulties with Chemin had taught him anything, it was to say nothing to a woman when you were clearly wrong.

  Marshall watched as Sommers paced before him. It would have seemed belittling if it weren't for the fact that she was more mad at herself than she was at him. This had clearly jeopardized something for her within the FBI that had nothing to do with him or the Douglas case.

  The FBI was a tough, very bureaucratic, by-the-book agency. Agents were selected from the choicest groups of law enforcement candidates. Many of the cops he knew had tried to get in but had failed. Even Danny had flirted with the idea, but he didn't have a college degree, which was a prerequisite. The agency prided itself on its elitism, so slipups were not common, but when they did occur, heads usually rolled.

  Moses' escape had made the local news, and had even popped up on CNN. Pictures of him were in every newspaper and flashed on each newscast. If Marshall knew his brother, he would change his look, lay low until the heat was off, then blow town as fast as he could.

  "Your statement on the transfer says your brother was wanted for questioning," said Sommers. "What was it about? Or is that a secret too?"

  "It was about an ATF case," said Marshall. "I needed information on a gunrunner named Quince that I prosecuted but failed to convict." Marshall answered quickly so Sommers would not get suspicious. It was only partially true, but it would do for now, he thought. "I'm closing out the case and giving it to another lawyer. I just wanted to be thorough. Look, the Douglas case has us all at our wit's end. I just lost track of my priorities for a moment."

  "My boss is thinking of pulling me off of the Douglas investigation," said Sommers. She was calming down now, her voice taking on a more moderate tone. "He thinks that obviously I didn't inspire confidence in you, so you left me out of the loop."

  "It wasn't that big of a deal. I don't even know if my brother had anything I could use."

  "So, why did you have him transferred?"

  Marshall thought carefully about his answer. He couldn't tell Sommers the truth, but the lie had to have the ring of truth.

  "I was covering my ass," Marshall said. "You know how it is. If I didn't follow up—"

  "I know, I know," said Sommers. "It comes back to bite you in the ass." She calmed down a little more, then: "So, I got a call from that Van Ness asshole from the CIA."

  "What did he want?" Marshall said.

  "He wanted to be filled in on all this. He wouldn't say why."

  "Why didn't he call me?" Marshall asked.

  "I couldn't tell you." Sommers grew silent for a moment, taking on a concerned look, one that suggested that something bigger was on her mind. "He bothers me," she said. "I just don't know why all of a sudden these guys are all over the place."

  "I'd like to know the answer to that myself," said Marshall.

  "Damn! I don't need this right now. I'm up for a promotion. Do you know how hard it is being a woman in this job?"

  "I don't want to compare hardships, but I am black, in case you haven't noticed," said Marshall.

  "Yes, but at least you're a man—forget it. I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound like a whiny feminist. This is the profession I've chosen. This is how the game is played. I'll take my lumps whatever they are. I'm just gonna have to do some dancing."

  "I'll be dancing for Nate and Toby today myself," said Marshall. "They don't want the case to go into meltdown over something stupid. They've been on the phone all day, spinning the escape away from our case. Look, if it means anything to you, I'm sorry."

  "Well, the Bureau will find your brother. But in the meantime, please keep me informed."

  They made more small talk about the case, then Sommers left. Marshall felt a little sorry for her. She was right. Even though he was black, it was a man's world. Sommers probably had to be twice as good to have gotten as far as she had.

  He often wondered why women joined law enforcement. Sommers was a bright, attractive woman and probably could have been successful in many other professions. Why carry a gun and chase scum for a living?

  He chastised himself at the sexist thought. She became a cop for the same reasons men did. Most cops were psychologically much like the men they chased, except they had a stronger moral compass. So if this was true, then Sommers had many criminal-like tendencies in her character. He didn't see them, though, not the way you saw them in male cops like Danny. Danny was clearly the other side of the psychological coin.

  Marshall worked for an hour, then went to see Nate and Toby. He told them the story, leaving out his suspicions about the CIA and the death of the Johnsons.

  Toby was on the speakerphone from Washington. She was upset but seemed more worried about the media making her look bad. She had just been the subject of a
New York Times
article touting her as a presidential candidate. She never brought up the fact that Marshall had a career-criminal brother. For that he was grateful. Nate assured her that the press would get nothing concerning the escape that would embarrass her.