Raising Cain (18 page)

“That’s how King wanted it.”

“Exactly. He’s always plotting something. And this plan was brilliant. He planted the mine and waited for the day we’d step
on it.”

“And we
did
,” Jennifer said.

Gardner looked her in the eye. “Yeah. We sure did.”

There was a commotion outside the door. Gardner picked up the phone. “What’s going on?” he asked the secretary.

“It’s Mr.
King
,” she answered.

Gardner looked at Jennifer. “The
special prosecutor
is here.”

King was brandishing Judge Danforth’s appointment order when Gardner and Jennifer entered the waiting area. “Get out here,
Lawson,” he commanded.

“What’s the problem, Kent?” Gardner asked.

“Give me all your Ruth files.”

Gardner crossed his arms. “By what authority?”

“
This
.” King dropped the order on the front desk.

Gardner skimmed the document. “It doesn’t say that in here.”

King smiled. “You
know
I’m entitled to the files. Now give them up.”

“We’ll need time to comply.”

“That’s not acceptable. I want them
now
, before they’re tampered with.”

Gardner set his jaw. “I will assemble them tonight, and you can pick them up tomorrow morning.”

“No. I want them
now
.”

The two men stood face to face, neither intimidated. “I also need space,” King added.

“What?”

“You are to provide me with an office.”

“Says who?”

“Danforth. If you’d stayed for the entire press conference, you would have heard it from him. I am to be given full backup
support from your staff, including secretarial,telephone, fax, library, files, and an office.”

Gardner looked at Jennifer. All of their offices were occupied.

“Your girlfriend can move in with
you
,” King said, motioning behind them. “And I’ll take that one.” He pointed to Jennifer’s private room.

Gardner held his breath. King was pushing him to the limit. “Watch yourself, Kent.”

“Excuse me. Your
associate
.”

“We’re going to need some time to adjust to this arrangement.” Gardner handed the court order back to King. “And we’re going
to have to confirm the logistics with Danforth. I’m not doing
anything
until he specifically tells me.”

“He
has
told you.”

“I didn’t hear it.” Gardner positioned himself to block King’s access to the interior.

“You know this doesn’t look good,” King said nonchalantly.

Gardner remained silent.

“You’ve been accused of obstructing the investigation, and you’re still doing it. That’s bad.” His lips made a
tsk, tsk
sound.

Gardner pointed a finger at him. “If you think I’ve done something wrong, then charge me. In the meantime, get the hell out
of my office.”

King knew he was outflanked. He shrugged and began moving toward the door. At the last minute, he turned around. “About that
last comment,” he said smugly. “I’d like to make a little correction.” He paused for effect. “It’s
my
office now.”

Dr. Alva Charles was becoming agitated. For the past two days he’d been trying to get Ruth’s fingerprints for Brownie, but
he’d failed. Ruth’s body
had
been shipped out the day they’d talked on the phone, and the file had been misplaced. When he’d finally located the paperwork,
there was no fingerprint card inside. But there was an unusual notation: “Hands retained for further testing.” If Ruth’s hands
were still on ice, the fingers could be inked, and Brownie could get his prints.

The late shift at the morgue was over. The autopsy rooms were closed and unlit. And Dr. Charles was the only living soul in
the building. He obtained an ink pad and blank print sheet from the supply closet, then set out to find the hands.

The storage chambers were spooky at night. Echoes were louder, the glare of the lights harsher. A notation in the file had
documented bin 8-C as the repository of the hands. That was on the top row of a four-level tier.

Charles pulled a metal stepladder over to the C section and climbed up to the highest rung. There was a ticket attached to
the aluminum handle: “MISC. SPECIMENS.”

The doctor pushed the latch and opened the door, releasing an explosion of icy air. His eyes teared, and he wiped them clear.
Then he peered into the vault.

It was stacked with plastic packages from its base to the top, chunks of flesh awaiting study. Charles groaned. He hadn’t
expected this much tissue. He’d have to sort through them all.

Fifteen minutes later, the doctor still hadn’t located any part of Ruth. There were hearts, livers, brains, and feet, but
no hands. Charles was getting tired and numb. He would not be able to go much longer before his own hands froze.

At the bottom of the second column of bags was a flat piece of plastic. The doctor yanked it out and rubbed the ice off its
label. “
RUTH
, T., D.O.D. 9/25,” it said. Charles looked in the vault to see if anything had fallen out, but everything inside was packaged.
He checked the fastening and found the seal broken. The bag was empty.

Charles closed the vault door and slowly climbed down the ladder. He’d have to tell Brownie that Ruth and his hands were gone,
along with any hope of a fingerprint.

“Let’s get going,” Kent King said to the five people gathered in his law office. It was six o’clock on the evening of his
appointment, and he was off and running with the case. He’d assembled a team from a list of ringers he’d encountered in practice.
Handey Randel and Ace Dixon were former Baltimore city police officers, now private detectives. They had a combined forty
years of experience in homicide investigations and were the best black-white team in the business. Handey covered the suburbs,
Ace handled the projects, and nothing escaped their net.

Dr. Art Welk was a former forensic pathologist turned consultant. He was qualified as an expert witness in most scientific
fields, including hair, fiber, and fingerprint examination. He was a master of details. Next to him was Harvey Morgan, who
owned an electronics business in Baltimore. He had helped King defend several electronic surveillance cases, and he would
handle the wire work.

Rounding out the group was King’s secret weapon. Lin Song was a sexy Asian attorney with long black hair and tempting eyes.
She had run the high-impact trial section of the Baltimore county prosecutor’s office before entering private practice a year
ago. She had the reputation of a defendant-killer in the courtroom and a man-killer on the street. And she was referred to
by her detractors as the Samurai Slut, which was really a double insult, since her ancestors were Mandarin Chinese.

“I want to set the agenda for the operation,” King said. “I had some fun with Lawson this afternoon, but it’s time to get
down to business.” The hubbub over the files had been a ruse. King had already retrieved them from the police. “You know the
background, history and all that. I’m not going through it again. We’re going to start the investigation from scratch, and
we’re
going to do it right.”

The group was attentive. They had all worked with King before on other cases. He was precise and focused, and he paid well.

“First, let’s get our center of operations straight. We’ll work everything out of
here
.”

“What about Lawson’s office?” Handey asked. “Thought you wanted to set up there.”

King laughed. “That was just to rattle Lawson’s cage. We’ll take a slot in the State’s Attorney’s office, but we won’t use
it for anything important. I’m not letting Lawson near
our
files. He may try to sabotage the operation. We’ll create a diversion down there to keep him guessing.”

“Nasty,” Lin Song said with a catlike grin.

“Now,” King continued, “I’ve already gotten phone-tap orders signed by the court. Harv, I want you to set up the pen registers
immediately. Here is the list.” He handed a paper to the pudgy fifty-year-old, which authorized the special prosecutor to
learn what numbers were being called by certain phones. If there was a conspiracy afoot, this would help them prove it.

Morgan adjusted his glasses and read the page. “All these?”

King nodded. “Can you do it?”

“I can do it, but…” Almost everyone on the list was either a cop or a prosecutor.

“Let me remind you,” King said, “that we are the good guys this time.
Those
people are all under suspicion.”

Morgan rubbed his double chin and walked to the door. “I’ll get on it right away.”

“Good. Now, Ace and Handey…”

The two private eyes looked up, like a dog-sled team ready to run.

“I want you to trace Thomas Ruth’s final hours every step of the way. From the time he left the compound until he got fried.
Every step. Where did he go? Who did he talk to? Who did he call? What happened to his car?”

The men nodded in tandem. “Aye-aye, sir.”

“And I want Doc with you,” King added, motioning to Art Welk. “He’s to process any hard evidence you all come up with,
after
he processes these.” King pulled a plastic bag out of his desk drawer and waved it in the air. Inside was the set of handcuffs
that Ruth had died in. Another court order had required Chief Gray to turn them over.

Welk took the bag. “Fingerprints, I presume?”

“Yes,” King replied. “Use an electron microscope if you have to, but get me a print.”

“I’m set up in the storeroom,” the doctor said.

“Then get going.”

Welk took the cuffs and left the room. The others stood up. “On your way,” King said to Ace and Handey. “I’ll have another
job for you later, so stand by the cellular. And be prepared for an all-nighter.”

The men gathered their things and walked out, leaving King and Lin Song alone. “What about
me
?” she asked in a sultry voice.

King walked over and stroked her hair, which fell to the level of her waist. “We have to work late, too,” he said teasingly.

She blinked her thick eyelashes. “That sounds promising. What are we working
on
?”

King stopped stroking and picked up a file from his desk. “A search warrant.”

It was dusk, and Gardner and Jennifer were jogging in Rockfield Park. After the confrontation with King they’d tried to go
back to work but couldn’t. Unbelievable as it was, King, the beast of the bar, was now a prosecutor. The enemy had changed
sides.

The sun had long since disappeared behind Anderson Mountain, and darkening shadows lay across the path. It was starting to
get chilly. Flat layers of ground fog were rising from the meadow, and their faces tingled in the cool air. The prosecutors
were coming into the stretch, two and a half miles done, a half mile to go.

“He’s going to screw us,” Gardner puffed. They’d run most of the course in silence. “We can’t let him into our files.”

Jennifer kept up the pace. “But Judge Danforth…” Gardner had called after King left and confirmed the dreaded truth. Danforth
did order full cooperation on the part of Gardner and crew. And that included all the amenities.
And
an office.

“Danforth can stuff it. The law only authorizes appointment of a prosecutor.”

Jennifer lengthened her stride to keep up. Gardner was pushing harder than he normally did on this section. The last hundred
yards was a gentle uphill rise to the finish, and he usually took it easy. But today Gardner was sprinting. “Gard!” Jennifer
called. She was falling behind.

Gardner didn’t reply. He lowered his head and notched up the pace, opening a lead on his partner.

“Gard!” she called again. He shouldn’t be doing this. He wasn’t in good enough shape for such a strain.

Gardner maintained his speed until he passed between the boulders at the three-mile mark. Then he doubled over, hands on his
knees, gasping for breath.

“Gard!” Jennifer yelled, racing to his side. “Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer. His breath was coming in convulsions and his face was beet red.

Gardner straightened up. “I’m fine,” he said between gasps.

“You have to take care of yourself, “ Jennifer admonished.

Gardner’s breaths were slowing. “God, you sound like my
mother
.’

Jennifer fell silent. She may have sounded like a mother, but she could tell he heard her as a wife.

They walked slowly back to the car, cooling down from the run. It was completely dark now, and a smudge of amber in the western
sky was the only light.

“We’ve got to tell Brownie about King,” Gardner said.

“Didn’t you call him?” Jennifer asked.

“Yes, but he’s not answering the phone.”

“Can’t we go see him?”

Gardner stopped walking. “King may be watching. He’s into the conspiracy shit big-time. He’d love to catch us together and
draw a conclusion.”

“But we have a
right
to talk to our friend.”

Gardner mopped his forehead. “Normally, yes. But we have pushed the ethics line.”

“So you think it’s dangerous.”

“Possibly. We’ve already conspired to protect Brownie, in a way, but it’s not provable, at least I don’t think it is. Brownie
has to be warned about the situation before it goes any further.”

There was a pay phone at the rest area nearby. Gardner decided to play it safe and not use his cellular. “Give me a quarter,”
he said.

Jennifer tossed him a coin, and Gardner ran to the phone. A short time later he returned.

“What happened?”

Gardner looked worried. “Still no answer.”

Paulie Brown looked out of the window of his Southwest D.C. apartment. It was night, and drug dealers were cruising the crumbling
street in plain view of the cops and the passersby. That was life down here, the reality suburbanites didn’t understand.

He watched a young boy walk to a dealer’s car, make a trade, and run to the alley. He should be home, but in ten minutes he
was going to be high, and in ten years he was likely to be dead. Paulie looked away from the window. His people were dying.
Slowly, painfully, tormenting themselves with poison.