“So you’re certain Johnny didn’t kill Tony Barovick?”

“More than that. As ironic as it might seem, Johnny saved that boy’s life.”

“Thank you. Pass the witness.”

That had gone well, Christina thought, as she returned to her seat. Better than she’d expected, actually. She couldn’t gauge whether the jury was buying it, but the points had been established. Whether they made an impact, ultimately, would depend on whether the jury believed Mrs. Christensen was telling the truth. At any rate, she hadn’t left any openings for Drabble’s cross, at least as far as she knew.

Drabble slowly approached the podium. Christina could only imagine what he had up his sleeve. She had cautioned Ellen not to become restless; this cross could easily go on for hours.

Drabble gazed at the witness for a long time. When he finally spoke, it was with a sort of sigh. “Mrs. Christensen, aren’t you the defendant’s mother?”

She hesitated a moment. “I’m his stepmother. I said that.”

He continued to look at her for a long while. “Mrs. Christensen,” he repeated. “Aren’t you the defendant’s mother?”

“Y-yes. Yes, I am.”

Drabble smiled, nodded, closed his notebook. “Thank you, ma’am. I have no more questions.”

42

Mike finally found Special Agent Swift in the basement firing range, protective earphones over her head. She was pouring long-range automatic ammunition into a man-shaped figure fifty feet away, and she looked as if she was enjoying herself. Which Mike didn’t doubt.

She didn’t hear him coming, no surprise, given the earphones and the thunderous clatter. He lifted the cushioned cones over her ears and said, “Boo!”

She started, but quickly recovered herself. “Mike! What’s up, sugah? Come to take out your frustrations on a cardboard target?”

“No. Came looking for you.”

“Really?” Her eyebrows danced. “You finally gonna take me up on my offer?”

“Yes, but possibly not the one you have in mind. Remember when you said you were going to come clean with me?”

“Ye-esss…”

“Well, now you really are.” He guided her into a nearby room and closed the door. “I want to know why you came down to Tulsa and started messing around in my murder investigation. And this time don’t give me any bull about drugs.”

“But Mike-”

“Mind you, I’m not saying there aren’t drugs running around that club or that Manny Nowosky wasn’t peddling them as a sideline. But that’s not enough to get a top Feeb wrapped up in an Oklahoma murder.”

“I’m certain that your murder was connected to our Chicago murder.”

“I am, too, but that still wouldn’t bring it under federal purview. What’s the real reason you thrust yourself into this case?”

She locked a finger around one of the buttons on his shirt. “With you involved, Mike, I didn’t need much of an excuse. For thrusting myself into things.”

He slapped her hand away. “Oh, give me some credit. I’m not so blind that a little flirting will turn me into an unquestioning idiot.”

“But I-”

“You’re not working any drugs case. You’re working the same case you were always working. The Metzger kidnapping.”

The humor drained from her face. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because I finally realized where I’ve seen that guy before. Charlie the Chicken. I knew I’d seen his face, but the image was slightly different, and I couldn’t figure out why. Until I did.” He paused. “It seemed different because the last time I saw him, I was way down looking up at him. Through the crosshairs of a sniperscope.”

“Indeed.”

“Yeah. That creep was one of the thugs who kidnapped the Metzger boy, and I’m willing to bet that Manny Nowosky was in on it, too. And Tony Barovick. My hunch was right about them being co-conspirators in some crime-I just had the wrong crime.”

“What a theory.”

“It explains a lot. Like why a two-bit punk like Manny had fifty grand lying around. And it helps me figure why Charlie was leaving town-given what had already happened to two of his partners.”

“I’m not following you.”

“We always thought the kidnapping was handled by a gang of four, and we were right. The fourth man-the only one who isn’t dead-is still on the loose, having knocked off his former partners.”

“But-why?”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to share the ransom they got away with. Maybe he knows they’re the only ones who can testify against him.” Mike turned, pacing around the tiny room. “But why am I telling you this? You’ve known all along these murders were linked to the kidnapping. That’s why you’re on the case. Right?” He leaned in closer. “Am I right?”

She stared back at him. “You are so hot when you’re mad.”

It was all Mike could do to restrain himself. “Am I right?”

She released a long stream of air. “Yes, you’re right.”

“Then why the hell-”

“But don’t start screaming at me. We had an anonymous tip linking the drill bit murder to the kidnapping, but I was under strict instructions from my superiors not to give you the lowdown. I didn’t like it, but it wasn’t my call.”

“Did it ever occur to you… pompous… goddamn white-shirts… that local law enforcement might actually be able to help you? If you’d give us half a clue what’s really going on!”

“I told you. It wasn’t my decision!” She stomped around a few moments. “But now that you know, I don’t see why I can’t tell you the rest.”

“Please do.”

“We think the fourth man-the remaining living kidnapper-is based here in Chicago. Now that he’s killed off his associates, assuming he has the ransom money, he should have no reason to remain. So we’ve got to catch him quick.”

Mike folded his arms across his chest. He still wasn’t pleased about this, but he was happier inside the loop than out. “And how do we do that?”

“Remote Control seems to be the nerve center of this operation, even after Tony Barovick’s death. Since we don’t have any leads and don’t know who Mr. Big is-we look for his shadow. Traces of his presence. Disruptions in the normal routine. People flashing a lot of cash who shouldn’t be. Signs of people being roughed up or acting in a strange-”

“Wait a second,” Mike interrupted. “Go back to the part about being roughed up.”

“You would like that part.” The corner of her lips turned up. “You know someone who’s been roughed up?”

His eyes seemed intensely focused, but not on anything in the firing range. “I think just maybe I do. Come on.”

She followed close behind. “Where are we going?”

“Out for a drink,” he said, putting on his coat. “Back to Remote Control.”

Hard to know what to think of that development, he thought, as he left the courtroom. Mother taking the witness stand. Pleading on her boy’s behalf. Surely the jury would take that for being exactly what it was. A desperate attempt by a loved one to save her son-by lying. Not to be believed. More sad than evil.

I should’ve killed those damn lawyers when I had the chance, he thought, as he crushed the newspaper between his hands. I had them in my sights. And I let them get away.

He’d been beating himself up about it ever since, not that that made the two any more dead. He’d screwed up-and now he was paying the price. Sure, he’d been reluctant to tote up another murder or two when there had already been so many. How long could the cops remain so ignorant? But it seemed as if every time he rested a bit, every time he thought he might be secure, could relax, prop up his feet and watch this case go away permanently-something happened. Something that made him worry that the whole mess was going to crumble all around him. Again.

He’d gotten another revolver, to replace the one he had dropped before. He was ready to go. He would content himself to watch and wait, for the time being. But when the time to move arrived-and given the way he felt at the moment, it wouldn’t be long-he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d go after them. The chick and her partner. If he got half a chance, he’d take out Christensen, too. Save the state the trouble.