The Hunger of Crows, page 23
Funny. For a while there, he felt like killing her. Now she’s dead and gone, and he misses her so much. How the hell is that possible?
His head is pounding now. All this thinking isn’t good for him. He has to cut that shit out.
CHAPTER
43
D’ANGELO WATCHES CARLA closely. After hiding from him for months, will she believe anything he says? Will any of them?
There’s no doubt what Shire thinks. “You expect us to believe you’re going to bring down Gordon McKint? After he‘s saved your life? After all the money he’s made you? And after he paid to help your daughter when she was sick?” Shire slits her eyes so tight she looks like she’s in pain. “You’re a lying sack of shit, D’Angelo.”
He debates going back into threat mode, decides to keep it neutral, but puts a little edge in the voice. “You get me that photo, I’ll testify against him.”
“But Cosmo,” Carla says, “Shire’s right. You said your daughter asked you to do that months ago when she gave you the picture, but you didn’t. What changed?”
“Kevin Dykstra,” D’Angelo says.
“Who?” Crockett asks.
“A young guy in our Phoenix office. Techie hipster type with one of those man buns. Skintight jeans with the cuffs turned up. A nice guy, and one of my people. Supposedly he had information on Sidewinder’s finances. McKint had him killed.”
Carla says, “The suicide in Flagstaff?”
D’Angelo raises his eyebrows, impressed she knows that much. “When I heard about it, I made some quiet inquiries. I hit a stone wall. Somebody clearly didn’t want me to pursue the matter. That’s when I knew that Gordon and a guy named Phil Lundren waited until I was out of the country to eliminate the kid. A friend I have at the FBI told me he thinks someone inside the Bureau tipped Sidewinder off that Kevin Dykstra was about to blow the whistle.”
“Yeah,” Carla says, “the bloggers think McKint has spies inside the FBI too.”
“You have no idea what the man is capable of.”
“You’re saying you changed your mind because of that young guy they murdered?” Crockett says. “I’m sorry, but you and McKint did all kinds of shit together, didn’t you? All those years?”
“Look, Gordon McKint and I eliminated some very bad people who needed to die. But he knew I’d never take out a noncombatant like Kevin Dykstra, a civilian—especially one of my own people. I am not going to let Gordon McKint bring his jungle tactics to America to make another buck for himself.”
He realizes he’s leaning over the table, nearly shouting at them. He sits back in his chair and feels his pulse racing. Calmly he adds, “So, one of you needs to go get me the photo from Carla’s truck.”
Carla says, “Why can’t we call the cops anonymously and tell them about the picture and where it is?”
D’Angelo shakes his head. “They’d just turn it over to the FBI.”
“But that’s what you want to do, isn’t it?”
“Carla, if someone inside the FBI is tipping off Sidewinder, I have to be sure that picture lands in the hands of people I can trust.” He looks from Scott to Shire and back. “So, who’s going to town? It’s got to be one of you two. Carla’s supposed to be dead, and it’s best if she stays that way.”
“It’s gotta be me,” Shire says. “What possible excuse can Scott give the police for going into Carla’s truck? I know half the cops in town. I can charm them.”
“Yeah,” Carla says to Shire. “But only if you want to. I’m worried about you and the girls getting involved.”
Shire gives D’Angelo a look of sheer menace. “You better not fuck us, asshole.”
He has to smile. Shire’s about five foot five and as cute as a baby animal. Right now he’s half convinced she would hunt him down and murder him in his sleep.
He holds his hands up in surrender.
Shire gives him one more baleful stare and turns to Carla. “So, how do we do this?”
“You have a picture in your phone of me and you and the twins in the Orca.” She turns to D’Angelo. “George took it on the girls’ birthday. He threw a party for them. Shirley Temples and cupcakes.”
“Sure,” Shire says. She pulls her phone out and scrolls through her photos.
“And?” D’Angelo says to Carla.
“Shire prints that out and hides it on herself. Then she goes to the police station, all upset over my drowning. She tells the guys there’s a picture of her and me in my glove box. It’s the only thing she has to remember me by.”
“I’ve heard worse ideas.”
“So, they let Shire into my truck, and she comes out with the picture of us and the twins in her hand, right?”
“And the photo of McKint in my pocket,” Shire says.
“Exactly.”
Crockett looks at D’Angelo. “And then you’ll leave Carla alone, right?” he says, fear replaced by determination now.
That’s all right. D’Angelo can see that Carla has gotten to him. Badly. He can’t blame the guy. Since he saw her face the first time again this afternoon, he’s been regretting that it all went this way.
He nods. “It’s a deal.” He stands and stretches his cramping back. “Okay, Shire, you go to town. Carla and Crockett and I’ll wait here.” He gives them a cold look to be sure nobody wants to argue with the idea of them acting as more or less hostages. They all nod. He looks at his watch. “Make it as fast as you can, Shire. There’s a wrinkle I haven’t told you about.”
“A wrinkle?” Carla says. “I don’t like that word.”
“This morning Carla’s name went out on the Coast Guard’s site. That set off a flag at my office. My betters were a little surprised that someone at Sidewinder has been searching for a certain Carla Merino—without his superiors knowing about it. Let’s just say they’re less than delighted with yours truly.”
Carla’s first to see where this is heading. “They’re sending somebody to Homer to replace you. And get me!”
“You bet,” D’Angelo says. “Right now, if they track my phone, it will indicate that I’m still out on the spit, near the marina. That’s where they’ll look first. And these goons will come heavy. Understand?”
Carla nods, grim faced. “And you didn’t bring a gun?”
D’Angelo reaches behind his back, pulls his pistol out, and shows them.
“You manipulative motherfucker,” Shire says. “You said you didn’t have a gun.”
“No.” D’Angelo shakes his head. “I indicated I didn’t have one in my pockets.” He replaces the pistol, pulls his jacket down over it again.
Shire looks like she’s going to leap up from the table and choke him.
“These guys can’t be in Homer already, can they?” Crockett says. “It’ll take them a while to send somebody here. I mean, all the way from Phoenix or something?”
“Unfortunately, Alaska is crawling with ex-military and ex-Agency personnel. Sidewinder could easily have somebody on one of the bases in Anchorage or Fairbanks itching to sign up for a little freelance work muscling a good-looking cocktail waitress.”
Carla holds her head in her hands.
Shire mutters something D’Angelo doesn’t quite hear.
He checks his watch again. “We have to get moving. I talked to Phil Lundren around eleven this morning. He’s the guy running the hunt for you now. Even if he’s already found someone in Anchorage, they won’t arrive in Homer until this evening. And there’s nothing to bring him up here to Anchor Point. But by now Lundren has Carla’s vehicle registration from my search data. And he’ll know about Shire’s boat, and the two of you working at the Orca too. The only thing he doesn’t know is where the truck is. Shire needs to grab that picture before Lundren’s guy pays a visit to Volker and finds out about the impound yard.”
Shire is already out of her chair, holding her phone up to Scott. “Can you print this photo for me?”
“Sure.” Scott stands. “In my office. I’ve got photo paper for my portfolio of jobs.”
Shire follows him out of the kitchen.
D’Angelo sits across the table from Carla, definitely wishing it hadn’t gone like this. “That night I picked you up, I’d just got back from a terrible, messy assignment. I was worrying about Jennifer and what to do with the photo. I needed to get my mind off things, badly. You were nice to me. I’m sorry this turned out like this.”
She works up a pinched half smile. “No one dragged me into your house. Or your bed. Jesus, I’ve slept with some problematic guys before, Cosmo, but you are the worst ever.”
“I was just thinking the same thing about you.”
She laughs. “What about those two?” She gestures toward the sound of Scott and Shire talking in his office. “I went with you looking for a good time. They were minding their own business before I dumped this on them. Shire has little children, for God’s sake.”
She’s right. He’s enlisting amateurs in dangerous work. That’s the kind of thing that will get people killed. Man, he really is getting too old for this job.
Carla’s watching him.
D’Angelo looks at her. “Tell me something. Nobody made you go through my nightstand either. Why did you look in that drawer in the first place? That’s the part of all this I haven’t figured out.”
“It’s embarrassing. I was just looking for a little something to remember you by. A memento. It’s stupid.”
“Because you didn’t intend on seeing me again.”
“Let’s say I wasn’t sure.” She sighs. “It’s me, not you, Cosmo. I’ve gotten used to very brief, no-strings affairs in the past few years. Like I said, it’s my problem.”
“Yeah. Well, it’s mine too now.”
Shire comes back into the kitchen with the color print of her and Carla sitting at a table in the Orca with the tiny blond twins on their laps. They’re all wearing pointy party hats with rubber chin straps. The girls hold their mocktails up to the camera, little umbrellas in each glass. The women salute with bottles of Pacifico.
D’Angelo hands it back to Shire. “Listen, when you get to town, keep your eyes peeled for a guy who doesn’t look like the usual fishermen or tourist types. He’s going to be stiffer, not having a good time.”
“Oh, you mean an asshole who looks like you?” Shire says brightly. “I’ll be back in an hour. With the picture.” She runs to her car and takes off down the gravel road.
D’Angelo says, “Man, there were times when I could’ve used a dozen like her.”
CHAPTER
44
CARLA STANDS AND watches through the window as Shire drives away. Scott is still at the sink doing dishes. She and D’Angelo sit at the kitchen table again. She says, “Why can’t I have my life back if you’re going to put McKint in jail or something?”
“The man is known to hold a grudge, Carla. And Lundren already thinks you were planning on blackmailing Gordon with the photo. He’ll use all of Sidewinder’s resources to find you.”
“And so did you?” she says. “You thought I was going to try that? Blackmail?”
He shrugs. “People do crazy things.”
“Come on. You know she wasn’t going to do that,” Scott says. “You can tell Sidewinder.”
Scott is at the counter, meticulously drying a gleaming frying pan. Carla watches him hang it from a hook on the pot rack. The thing looks like it just came off a shelf in a Williams Sonoma. Jesus, he’s a neat freak. She can’t decide if she wants to marry or strangle him.
“I can tell them?” D’Angelo scoffs. “When this hits the fan, I’m going to be the first one they take out.”
“Why?” Carla asks, the word blackmail still echoing in her head for some reason.
“Carla, I had the photo for two weeks without telling them about it. Not to mention keeping its existence—and yours—secret for another two months.” He laughs coldly. “My only way out of all this right now is to bring the feds the photo and testify against Gordon. They’ll put me in the Witness Security Program.”
“Well, shit! I’m not going to get witness protection. I don’t have anything to testify about!” She feels the heat in her cheeks. “I have to run for the rest of my life? This is the end of the fucking road, Alaska! It seemed like a sure thing. Look how well that worked out.”
D’Angelo reaches over and pats her arm. “Take it easy. I do this for a living.” He motions for Crockett to join them. “Crockett, come and sit. Listen to me.”
Scott takes a seat next to her. Carla lays her hand on his knee, manages a smile.
“Here’s the deal.” D’Angelo pulls a cell phone out of his pocket. “This is a phone I borrowed from Volker. It can’t be connected to me. I can call someone who will give you a new identity.”
“A new identity? Why would you do that for me?” Carla asks.
“I don’t want you to get killed because you picked me instead of any of the other cops who drink at the Sierra.” He chuckles. “I’ll bet I’m not the first person to say this, Carla, but you have terrible judgment about men.”
“You and my mother should chat.”
D’Angelo holds the cell phone up again. “Let me make that call. This guy will want you to move very fast. Probably tonight. You up for that?”
“Today?” She’s just starting to like Homer, not to mention Shire and the girls. And yes, this awkward but sweet carpenter who seems intent on helping her. After years of more or less meaningless hookups with men, having one who clearly likes her, a decent guy who could be something more, is a great feeling. She’s almost forgotten what that’s like.
“You totally trust this person, right?” she asks D’Angelo.
“He’s my escape pod. Even if the feds put me in WITSEC, I’ll be calling this guy.”
Scott says, “You don’t trust the federal Witness Security Program?”
“Call it my second level of security. The feds make me disappear, and then I disappear from them. It’s like being twice removed from my known life. This guy is my plan B.” He makes the call.
“Sure,” Carla says, still thinking about having to leave this place, running again, hiding, starting over someplace new. She stands. “I gotta get some air.” She sees Scott give her a bereft look. She goes out and leans against the railing on the porch.
She’s not there a minute when a crow flies in and lands on the railing a few feet away. Its ink-black feathers shine in the sunlight as it tips its head to one side, sizing her up. It squawks at her, beak open wide. She looks back over her shoulder at the kitchen window. She can see Scott watching. The crow squawks at her again in a demanding tone.
Scott comes out with something cupped in one hand.
“Hey, this crow is tame or something,” she says.
“Yeah. I found him tangled up in fishing line on the dock this spring. His wing was damaged. I brought him home in a box and took care of him until he could fly. He’s free to go, but he keeps hanging around.” Scott sprinkles some small brown chunks on the railing. “He likes bacon bits. I keep a jar in the cupboard.”
The bird hops over and pecks at them.
“Bacon bits.” Carla laughs. “Those can’t be good for him.”
“I’m his friend, not his wife.”
“What’s his name?”
Scott looks bemused. “I never named him. I guess I figured he was going to take off and I’d never see him again.”
“And you didn’t want to get too attached?”
Scott swallows. “Something like that.”
Carla watches Scott feeding the bird. It would be nice to stay, but the sun is strong again. And once more it makes her feel like it’s beaming down on her for the benefit of whoever comes looking. These new guys who even D’Angelo is afraid of. She’s going to have to go with his plan. She can hear him in the house talking on the phone.
Scott looks at her fondly. “You want to feed the bird?”
The crow looks up as if he knows they’re talking about him.
She takes a few bacon bits from Scott and holds them out. The crow hops up to her hand and plucks one from her fingers.
“He’s a smart bugger,” she says.
Scott smiles. “They’re members of the corvid family. Like ravens and magpies and jays. They have the brain–to–body mass ratio of whales and great apes. May be just as smart.”
“Maybe he can think up a way to get me out of this mess.”
“You’re getting what you want, aren’t you? When Shire comes back with the photo, D’Angelo will take you to Anchorage and use it to bring McKint down. And you get a new ID. That’s all good, right?”
“Yeah,” she says tiredly. “I guess. I don’t know.”
They’re still very close, and she lets her head fall against Scott’s chest. The idea of living in this house in the woods runs across her mind. It’s too bad they can’t give it a try. Then something D’Angelo said overshadows that, something about getting money from McKint for the photo. It really hadn’t occurred to her. But now …
D’Angelo walks out onto the porch, still talking on his cell. Carla pulls away from Scott and leans against the porch rail.
“Okay, sure,” D’Angelo says into the phone. He turns to Carla. “How old are you?”
She shoots Scott a quick glance. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. “Thirty-three,” she tells D’Angelo.
Scott grins.
D’Angelo cuts her a dubious glance but repeats the number into the phone. “Height and eye color?” he says to Carla. She tells him. Then he says into the phone, “I’ll send it to you in one minute. She’ll call you when she gets to Anchorage.” He fiddles with the phone and says to Carla, “Look at this.”
The phone makes a clicking sound. It dawns on her what he’s doing. “Did you just take a picture of me?”
D’Angelo nods, and she hears the unmistakable swoosh of an outgoing text.
“God. You could’ve let me comb my hair,” she says. “What’s left of it.”
“I think you’re supposed to look like a madwoman in your passport photos. It’s some kind of rule.”
