“I hear you caught a case-”

“Of the clap? You doing STD investigation now for Public Health? That would be a step up for you, prestigewise.” Rainier’s tone remained listless, as if he really couldn’t summon the energy to taunt Tess.

“Le’andro Watkins. Teenager, killed last week.”

“Yeah, that’s a winner, ain’t it?”

“You’ve developed any leads?”

“None at all. Usual drill. No one saw anything. No one knows anything. He was a low-level solider in a small-time drug gang.”

“Worked for Bennie Tepperson-Bennie Tep. Am I right?”

“Yeah,” he said, now more alert. “You got something for me, Monaghan? Because this one’s a total loser.”

“I might. Eventually. Was there anything to suggest that it wasn’t what it appeared to be, a straight-up retribution shooting?”

“Naw. Although I will say the East Side has been quiet lately, and Bennie’s far from a player. He’s an old-timer who’s stayed in the game by not taking a lot of risks. Hell, he’ll barely defend what territory he does have, and he’s getting a rep for putting out really weak packages. He’s never been a significant player, except in his own head.”

“You hear that from DEA?”

“Naw, our own guys are more up on it. The feds got no use for the drug stuff now, unless it’s big federal-death-penalty stuff with lots of gang violence, like those M-13s down in southern Maryland.”

“Still, the DEA was interested, right? Came around, asked a few questions?”

Rainier gave her an odd look. “Nope. No DEA involvement at all. What makes you think that?”

“You sure? I know you’re the primary, but could they have spoken to someone else?”

“Anything is possible, but I sure as hell didn’t talk to anyone. It’s not exactly one of our high-priority cases. And if a DEA agent came sniffing around, there would have been talk, you can be sure of that.”

It was what Tess had expected to hear, even feared. If Mike Collins hadn’t talked to the primary on the case, then how could he know that Le’andro Watkins was the dead kid that had scared Lloyd into running? Chances were he was the man who had killed him.

“You know a DEA agent name of Mike Collins?” she asked Rainier.

“Know of him. He’s the poor bastard who shot that geezer who tried to interrupt his drug buy. Honest mistake, and they hung him out to dry.”

“But you’ve never spoken to him, haven’t had any contact with him in the last week?”

“Nope. Never met the man.”

Tess’s lunch arrived, and she decided to abandon herself, however briefly, to the reliable pleasure of grilled meat, melted cheese, and deep-fried potatoes. “So what sent you into hiding today?”

“I’m working,” Rainier said, in on the joke for once. “Hey, it’s bad enough I’m saddled with this piece-of-shit Watkins case. I don’t see why I have to be collateral damage in a red ball as well.”

“Tourist?”

“Worse.”

“A relative of the mayor?”

“Some federal prosecutor. Probably a random thing, a straight-up carjacking, but they’re sending guys out to grab every lowlife in a five-mile radius, just in case it’s related to his work. Two AUSA’s in six months. It’s making people a little jumpy.”

The cheeseburger, which would have been a contender in any best-of-Baltimore survey, turned to ash on Tess’s tongue.

“You happen to hear the name?” she asked after a hard swallow.

“Something Italian.”

“Dalesio?”

“Yeah, like the restaurant. Dalesio. You know the guy?”

31

Live and learn, Jenkins thought. Gail Schulian wasn’t going to make the same mistake that her predecessor had, calling press conferences and vowing to avenge the death of Gabe Dalesio. She was playing this as close to the vest as possible. Here it was almost four o’clock, and the name hadn’t been released to the public yet. As far as the general population knew, the Canton carjacking was just some unlucky civilian.

Collins had done as he’d been told, gone to the bosses and spoken about his drink with a dead man. He said Dalesio had been working on some leads in the Youssef case, but it was all about trying to get the female PI to give up her source, nothing inherently dangerous.

Collins had reported the details back via cell phone, although even that made Jenkins nervous. Just their luck, some hobbyist with a scanner would pick up their conversation. But whatever Collins was, he was disciplined, and while an eavesdropper might wonder why he felt the need to relate all this to Jenkins, there was nothing in the content of their conversation to cause trouble. Yes, Collins had been a most satisfactory protégé all around.

Until he murdered Gabe Dalesio.

Killing Youssef had been bad enough, but necessary. The whole beauty of Jenkins’s scheme was that it was low-risk, a fed’s version of playing stickup man. They were stealing money from a drug dealer, and a mediocre drug dealer at that, one who was unlikely to be a target but had the old-school arrogance to think he might be. It was a scheme Jenkins had dreamed up and polished while in exile in Woodlawn, waiting for retirement and contemplating suicide. The thing was, such a scheme required a collaborator. A defense attorney had seemed the likely go-between, and Jenkins couldn’t stomach the thought of that. Then he had met Mike Collins, another former wonder boy covered in shame. As an East Sider with contacts on the ground, Bully could do what few other feds could: go straight to the source. Collins hashed out the deal, told Bennie Tep that he was coming up on wiretaps but that Collins could hold him harmless for a monthly fee. It was like selling real estate on the moon; the only way that Bennie Tep could prove they weren’t protecting him was if he got arrested by the feds, and that was never going to happen.

How had Youssef figured it out? That bugged Jenkins to this day, because if Youssef could figure it out, someone else could as well. He was such a smarmy bastard, cutting himself in when he hadn’t done any of the work. But okay, Jenkins was fine with giving him a cut, letting him collect a little Bennie Tep money, too. It didn’t even cost him and Bully anything; Mike just told Bennie that they had to bring an AUSA in to guarantee his protection, so the monthly fee went up. No, it was okay when Youssef wanted in.

It was when he wanted out that things came to a head, and the fact that he wanted to do it because he had a kid on the way just made Jenkins more nervous. Once Youssef opted out, it would be all too easy for him to turn on them if the shit ever came down. But Jenkins had smiled and shook the young man’s hand, told him there were no hard feelings, congratulated him on his soon-to-be-born son, and let him go his own way, thinking everything was peachy.

Bennie hadn’t wanted any part in killing Youssef; that would be a death-penalty crime, and he was too cautious for that. But he let Mike have one of his low-level kids set it up. Le’andro wasn’t the brightest bulb on the tree, but he had faked his way through his part. He got in touch with Youssef, claimed to know something about a Pakistani who was funneling money into local drug gangs, asking questions about weapons and dirty bombs. The night before Thanksgiving was supposed to be Youssef’s big score, a meeting with someone close to the Paki, arranged by Le’andro. He had headed downtown, thinking he was on his way to being a hero.

He hadn’t died heroically. He had given up the ATM number readily enough, thinking it might save his life, but the punishment had just begun. Make it look personal, Jenkins had impressed on his protégé. Make it look angry. Truth be told, Collins had succeeded a little too well at that part. In the end, when they were parked along the Patapsco in the state park, Jenkins had turned away, not wanting to see what Collins was capable of.

But it had gone according to plan, except for the moment that Youssef tried to get away by wading across the river. Collins had caught him on the other side, and he didn’t have to make it look angry then, because he was. Funny, that unplanned contingency had worked for them, too, sending the case into Howard County, where the detectives had even less experience handling homicide than Baltimore County did.