“It’s a front,” he said. “Where is he now? Doing a security guard detail for some country club? A private airport, maybe?” When I gave him a slight nod to indicate he was at least close to the truth, his smile widened. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. It’s a job he can manage easily without having to be on scene all the time. It leaves him plenty of free time to pursue his other interests.”

“And what are those?”

“Weapons smuggling,” he said. “And he’s damn good at it.”

I wanted to look at Joe, but I kept my eyes on Kinkaid, trying not to show any reaction. Cody had said the Russians were moving illegal weapons. Now Kinkaid said Weston’s closest friend had been as well.

“Who’s he moving them with?” Joe asked. “Or maybe I should ask, who’s he moving them for?”

Kinkaid frowned. “I can’t tell you that. Hartwick never exactly confided in me, you know, and Wayne, well, it’s been years since Wayne and I talked about all this. I don’t know any names, I just know that some Soviets were involved. Retired Spetznatz guys, the Soviet answer to Force Recon.”

I had to look at Joe after that one. He gazed right back at me, and I knew what he was thinking: Maybe stopping Kinkaid at the door had been a good move after all.

Kinkaid followed my eyes. “What?” he said. When no one answered, he said, “Why’d you look at him like that? What have you heard?”

Joe shifted in his chair and leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head. “Weston was checking into some of Cleveland’s very own Russian thugs shortly before his death. We started checking into them as well, and yesterday an FBI agent and some Cleveland cops stopped by to tell us not to.”

“They give a reason?”

Joe nodded. “Said they think a group of Russians working under Dainius Belov killed Wayne Weston. Apparently, Weston’s name came up in some conversation they pulled off a wiretap. They don’t know what his involvement with them was-well, they said they don’t know, at least. But they did mention the Russians are involved in weapons trafficking.”

Kinkaid spread his long legs out in front of him and cocked his head to the side. “They didn’t say anything about Hartwick?”

“Not a word.”

He frowned. “So why are you interested in Hartwick today?”

Joe told him about the green Oldsmobile and the stolen South Carolina license plate and then explained how I had traced Hartwick to the Myrtle Beach hotel. Kinkaid listened with interest, his green eyes intense.

“When you came down to see me in Sandusky, you asked about Jeremiah Hubbard,” he said. “Where does he fit into all this?”

“Good question,” I said. “That’s one we’re hoping to answer.” I told him about our conversation with Hubbard, as well as our visit to Dan Beckley earlier that morning. He nodded his head slightly as I talked, and he looked sad but not surprised.

“I figured as much,” he said when I was done. “After Wayne and I went our separate ways, I still kept in touch with some of the people we’d worked with in the past. As the months went by, I heard rumors that he wasn’t accepting new clients and that he was doing some extremely confidential, high-paying work and wouldn’t talk to anyone about it. Hell, you’ve seen his house, you know he was making cash. But ask around the PI industry a little, and you’ll hear a lot of rumors about him, almost none of which involve him being legitimate.”

“It looks like he was supplying blackmail material for Hubbard,” I said. “How’d he get involved with Belov, though? We don’t have a clue yet. And now we’ve got this ex-Marine working the same streets we are. It adds up to a lot of questions and not nearly as many answers.”

“You said Hartwick’s going around the neighborhood posing as a cop?” he said. “I wonder what the hell that’s about. If Wayne got involved with Belov’s crew, it’s a safe bet that Hartwick led him there. But what’s Hartwick doing cruising the neighborhood and asking questions?”

“Could be trying to do exactly what we are,” I suggested. “Maybe he’s trying to determine what happened to Weston and his family.”

Kinkaid made a face. “Possible, I guess. But with a guy like Hartwick, I’d be more inclined to believe there’s money involved. And if there is, you can bet he’s out to get it.”

“You think the guy’s stupid enough to try to rip off the Russian mob?”

Kinkaid smiled grimly. “Stupid enough to do it? Randy Hartwick would jump at the chance, Mr. Perry. It would offer a challenge he just couldn’t refuse. Hartwick thinks he’s the toughest, most dangerous guy there is. And he definitely believes he’s the smartest.”

“So what’s he trying to do?”

“I don’t know,” Kinkaid said. “But you’ve got his phone number, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, why don’t we call and ask him?”

Joe looked at me and shrugged. “Why not?” he said. “If he doesn’t answer, or if he hangs up on you, we’ll go from there. But if he’s willing to talk, it could save us a hell of a lot of effort.”

“All right.” I grabbed the phone and dialed the number the Golden Breakers clerk had given me. On the third ring, a male voice with a hard edge answered: “Hartwick.”

“Mr. Hartwick,” I said, “my name’s Lincoln Perry.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m an investigator working for John Weston. My partner and I were hoping to ask you a few questions about your relationship with John’s son.”

For a few seconds all I could hear was his breathing. “I’m afraid I can’t help you,” he said, and his voice had a measure of caution now.

“You still driving that green Olds?” I asked.

There was another brief silence. “You’re the guys from the Taurus,” he said.

“Uh-huh.”

“You said you’re working for John?” When I acknowledged that was true, he said, “All right, we can talk.”

“Think you could stop by our office this afternoon? I can give you directions. It isn’t hard to find.”

“No way,” he said. “Don’t take this personally, but I’d kind of prefer to call the shots here until I know what I’m getting into.” He paused, considering the options. “Where are you guys?”

I told him.

“All right, here’s what we’ll do,” he said. “I’m going to take a little drive around, see if I can pick out a meeting place I’m comfortable with. When I find one, I’ll call you back, and you can come meet me.”

“That works,” I said, thinking about Kinkaid’s description of Hartwick as the most dangerous man he’d ever met. We could be walking into a trap, but at least we’d be somewhat prepared. I was glad Kinkaid had decided to make the trip to Cleveland. If he hadn’t, Joe and I would have approached Hartwick with our usual caution-but with a man like that, the usual caution might not have been enough. I gave him the office phone number and hung up. Joe and Kinkaid looked at me expectantly.

“He’ll meet with us, but only on his terms. He said he’s going to pick out a meeting spot and call us back, then we’ll go down to see him.”

“Shit.” Kinkaid frowned and shook his head emphatically. “I don’t like that, man. That sounds like a setup to me. He’s got too much control in that scenario.”

I turned to Joe. He was expressionless, listening to Kinkaid’s warning but not reacting.

“Well, grandpa?” I said.

“This Hartwick guy sounds like he could hold a lot of answers,” Joe said. “If this is the only way he’ll talk to us, then that’s what we’ll have to do. There’s only one of him, and there’s three of us. We should be all right.”

“You’re thinking we split up?” Kinkaid asked. “Keep someone out on the perimeter in case anything goes wrong?”

“I’m not expecting anything to go wrong,” Joe answered, “but that’s not such a bad idea. No matter what, I don’t think you should be with us during the meeting.”

“What? Oh, come on!” Kinkaid leaned forward and slapped the top of the desk with one hand. “That’s bullshit, Pritchard. You want my help or not? I know this guy better than you do. I need to be there when you’re asking him questions.”