Internal Affairs (16 page)

“Yet he did.”

She nodded. “Because I managed to get some leverage against him. I knew he was involved in some unsavory real estate deals, so I searched his home computer and found a password-protected folder containing documents that I thought were connected to one of them. Names, dates, addresses, amounts. It looked like an accounting of bribes that had been paid out to various recipients.”

“How did you know the password?”

“Oliver’s pretty easy to read. I just kept guessing until I got it right.”

“And that’s where you saw Azarov’s name?”

“Yes,” she said. “It didn’t click when you first said it, but now I’m sure of it. And I’m wondering if what I saw wasn’t evidence of a real estate scam at all. Maybe those documents prove that Oliver has ties to organized crime.”

Rafe’s eyes were alive now. “Tell me you made a copy.”

She nodded again. “On a data chip. I hid it in a safe place, and gave Oliver an ultimatum. Divorce me or I turn it over to the police. I had no idea if it would pay off, but judging by the look on his face, it was something pretty damaging. And it was enough to make him leave me alone.” She paused. “For a while, at least.”

“I’m surprised he left you alone as long as he did. He’s a creature of impulse.”

“No kidding,” she said. “Ninety percent of it fueled by testosterone.”

“So where did you hide this data chip?”

She sat up now and kissed his cheek. “Get dressed.”

Chapter Twenty-One

They were halfway across town when Rafe realized they were being followed.

Three cars back. A gray BMW sedan that should have blended in with the rest of the traffic, but didn’t.

Rafe had noticed it shortly after they left his parking garage, but hadn’t given it much thought until the car made a couple of tricky maneuvers to keep pace with the Mustang.

So there was no question about it. There was somebody unfriendly back there.

There were two possibilities. Either it was IA, trying to keep tabs on their number-one suspect, or it was one of Sloan’s goons, keeping tabs on Lisa.

Either way, the news wasn’t good.

“This is going to sound like the biggest cliché in the world,” he said, “but we’ve got company.”

“What do you mean?” She started to turn her head to look behind them but Rafe quickly put a hand on her wrist, stopping her.

“Hold it,” he said. “No point in letting them know we know about them.”

Lisa looked worried. “Who do you think it is?”

“I’ve got a couple of guesses, but figure it could go either way.” He sighed. “No matter who it is, they don’t need to know where we’re headed and what we’re up to. Not yet, at least.”

“So then what’s the plan?”

“You remember that roller-coaster ride we went on at Hampton Park our junior year?”

She made a face. “How could I forget? I threw up all over your car. Why?”

“Don’t do it again,” he said, then stomped on the accelerator.

The Mustang roared and shot forward through an intersection. Rafe spun the wheel, took a sharp right, then shifted, stomped again and shot into the left lane as he poured on the gas.

Checking his rearview mirror, he saw the Beemer take the turn behind him, coming toward them at a clip. If the driver had been trying to hide earlier, there was no such subterfuge now. The driver came after them like a sleek gray cheetah, obviously unconcerned about rising gas prices.

Rafe had seen his share of high-speed chases in the past couple years, but he’d never been on the receiving end of one of them. Cutting off a Chevy Malibu, he changed lanes and picked up speed. The switch was abrupt and jerky, Lisa’s face going pale as she grabbed for the handbar above her door.

“Uh...uh...uh...” she said, her widening eyes on the road ahead, apparently unable to form any words.

“Hang on!” Rafe told her, then shot past another car, cut back into the left lane and made an arcing turn onto an adjoining street. The Mustang’s tires screamed in protest as they burned up the road.

Checking the rearview mirror again, Rafe saw the BMW breeze through the turn with a smooth, steady hand.

This guy was good.

Rafe checked his speedometer. He was clocking a good seventy miles an hour on a city street and his pursuer wasn’t even flinching. No way the guy was IA.

Not with those skills.

And Rafe doubted he was one of Sloan’s usual thugs, either. The people Sloan surrounded himself with weren’t exactly top-of-the-line.

So who was he?

Rafe decided there was only one way to find out. A face-to-face with the man. But not on
his
terms. It was time to reverse the trajectory of this chase and set it right.

Telling Lisa to hold on again, Rafe spun the wheel, tapped the brakes and roared into an alleyway on his right. He was familiar with this alley because of his patrol work and knew it led to an adjacent street.

On that street was another alleyway, this one long and narrow. But Rafe knew about an abandoned warehouse at about the halfway mark, and a service ramp that led into an empty cargo bay.

Sheriff’s deputies routinely patrolled the alleyway to chase away squatters, and after a concerted six-month effort the vagrants had finally gotten the message and stayed away for good. The owner was supposed to have boarded the place up by now, but hadn’t yet gotten around to it.

When Rafe saw the gray Beemer turn into the alley behind him, he stomped on the gas again and shot out into the street. Horns honked around him as he cut diagonally toward the second alleyway and turned into it, shooting straight for that warehouse ramp.

A few moments later, he pulled into the darkness of a cargo bay, then came to a stop and let the engine idle.

Lisa seemed to be trying to find her voice. “...You were right about the roller coaster.”

“Sorry about that.”

“What are we doing in here?”

“Waiting.”

“For what?”

“The inevitable,” Rafe said cryptically, feeling a little guilty for not explaining his plan. “I need you to get out of the car.”

“What?”

“This could get nasty, and I don’t want you getting hurt. You’ll be safe enough here in the warehouse.”

“But I don’t understand. Where are you—”

Rafe put a finger to his lips to silence her as the sound of the BMW’s engine reverberated through the alleyway. Getting the message, she carefully popped her door open and got out of the car. She looked frightened, but it couldn’t be helped. Better she hide in here in case this guy had firepower.

Nodding to her, Rafe watched her back away into the warehouse darkness, then popped the Mustang into Reverse and looked out the rear windshield toward the bottom of the ramp.

A moment later, the BMW rolled into view, cruising at a slow crawl now, the driver undoubtedly wary as he searched for his prey.

Rafe hit the gas. Hard.

He rocketed backward down the ramp, ramming into the side of the BMW. Metal screamed as it collapsed inward and the Beemer was punched sideways. Before the driver knew what hit him, Rafe cut the engine and was out of the car in a quick, fluid move, the spare gun he kept in his glove compartment now in hand as he turned toward the crumpled BMW.

But to his utter surprise, the driver was gone, his door hanging wide. How he had managed to flee so fast was beyond Rafe’s comprehension, but Rafe spun on his heels, looked down the alley and saw a man running, wearing a hooded sweatshirt—much like the one Rafe had worn earlier—much like the one he’d seen the hit man wearing at the auto repair shop two nights ago.

And Rafe knew this was the same guy.

It had to be.

He shouted and took off after him, and the guy turned suddenly, gun in hand, and fired off a shot.

The bullet whizzed past Rafe as he dove behind a garbage bin and returned fire, once, twice, but the guy was too far away now, heading into the street.

And then something completely unexpected happened.

Just as Rafe was about to get to his feet and give chase again, just as the guy had stepped onto the street—

An A-1 Furniture truck came out of nowhere and slammed into the man, killing him instantly.

Rafe stopped short and turned away, squeezing his eyes shut in horror.

* * *

“N
O
ID
,”
K
ATE SAID
. “Nothing. This guy’s a phantom.”

“I’d bet my last nickel he was working for Oliver Sloan,” Rafe told her. “He’s got to be a hired killer. I’m almost positive he’s the guy I chased out of that auto repair shop.”

They were standing in the mouth of the alley, a section of the street cordoned off as crime scene techs worked to bag the man’s body and remove it.

Lisa stood nearby, looking pale and sickly, undoubtedly trying her best not to throw up. Kate’s partner, Eberhart, was leaning against their cruiser, quietly smoking a cigarette as he eyed Rafe suspiciously.

Kate frowned at Rafe. “What do you think you’re doing, little brother?”

“What do you mean?”

“It looks to me as if you’re still trying to work this case. And now you’ve gotten the ex-wife involved.”

“You’re the ones who wanted her involved, remember?”

“That was before IA arrested you. If you had any sense, you’d be lying very low right now. You need to stay away from this. As it is, my partner wants to haul you in right now and start grilling you.”

“Hey,” Rafe said. “I didn’t ask for this guy to come after us. What happened here was purely defensive.”

“Well, I guarantee IA’ll have plenty of questions, but right now, you need to go home, get some rest, catch up with your girlfriend—who looks scared witless, by the way—and try to forget that Oliver Sloan even exists.”

“Can’t do that,” Rafe said.

Kate sighed. “Look, I’m not telling you this as your big sister. I’m telling you this as a fellow cop. We’re going to stop this guy, I promise you that, but it’s going to take time to get the goods on him.”

“Maybe not,” Rafe said.

She studied him. “What do you mean?”

He gestured toward Lisa. “Turns out she may have some evidence that proves Sloan’s not only connected to organized crime, but also to one of the victims, as well. Azarov.”

“What kind of evidence?”

“Some documents Sloan kept hidden on his computer with names, dates and what she thinks may have been bribe amounts.”

Kate looked visibly excited. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Where are these documents?”

“On a data chip she’s been keeping in a safety deposit box. We were on our way to retrieve it when the dead man started following us.”

“You sure this is the real thing?”

Rafe glanced at Lisa, their eyes connecting for a moment, then returned his gaze to Kate. “She wouldn’t lie to me.”

Kate didn’t need any more prompting. She immediately turned, calling out to Eberhart. “Rev her up, Charlie, we’ve got places to go.”

Eberhart frowned, ditched his cigarette. “Oh, yeah? Where to?”

“We’re going to make a withdrawal.”

* * *

T
HE
H
AMPTON BRANCH
of the Westland National Bank was located in a strip mall in southwest St. Louis.

Rafe’s Mustang had to be towed from the alley, so he and Lisa rode in the back of Kate’s cruiser to their destination, which was little more than an oversize box, sandwiched between a Taco Hut and a Gino’s Pizza.

As they all climbed out of the car, Eberhart said, “So this is where we find the evidence to take Sloan down, huh? Fat chance.”

Kate said, “Why don’t you wait out here, Charlie?”

“And miss the look on your face when this turns out to be a big fat bust?”

“Smoke another cigarette,” she said. “I think you might need it.”

Eberhart shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

As he pulled his pack from his coat pocket and turned back to the car, Kate, Rafe and Lisa moved toward the bank’s entrance. Rafe opened the door, letting Lisa and Kate step past him.

The bank was small, nothing more than a satellite office for one of the large branches downtown. Which, Lisa had told them, was exactly why she had chosen it.

There were two teller windows and a manager’s desk off to the right. Toward the back was a cage with the vault on the left, and a small room full of safety deposit boxes on the right. The safety deposit clerk sat at a desk nearby, and looked up with a smile as they approached.

Lisa introduced herself and gave the clerk her account number. The clerk checked her records, nodded, looked at Lisa’s photo ID then stood and escorted them past the gate into the security box room.

The clerk and Lisa approached a small door in the wall marked 339, and used dual keys in the locks to open it. The clerk slid the box out and handed it to Lisa, then excused herself, telling her that she could have privacy in a small, curtained booth to the left of the room.

When she was gone, they all moved to the booth. Lisa slid the curtain back and set the box on a table inside. As Rafe and Kate watched, she took hold of the lid and lifted it, Rafe feeling giddy with anticipation.

But disappointment soon followed.

The box was empty.

Her face filling with shock, Lisa shoved a hand inside and patted it—an instinctive, but ultimately useless gesture.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “I put it in here. I
know
I put it in here.”

Kate glanced at Rafe as if to say,
Are you sure this woman’s trustworthy?
But Rafe ignored her and grabbed hold of the box, turning it upside and shaking it.

Nothing fell out.

The data chip was clearly gone.

“Somebody must have taken it,” Lisa said. “I don’t know how they managed it, but—”

“We can certainly try to find out,” Kate said, then turned and headed back toward the safety deposit clerk’s desk.

They followed as Kate pulled out her badge and showed it to the clerk. “Excuse me, but I need you to check the records.”

“For what?” the clerk asked.

“I want to know if anyone had access to that safety deposit box in the last several days.”

“I’m afraid you’d need a warrant for that.”

Lisa moved forward. “Are you forgetting that it’s
my
box? Please do as she asks.”