Killing Frost Read online

  ‘Too big to fail,’ Shanahan said. He turned and walked away.

  Daniel Holcomb kept Shanahan waiting well over forty-five minutes. Understandable. Shanahan had no appointment and refused to make one. At this point Holcomb had nothing to gain by seeing Shanahan. And he could lose billable hours. Fortunately the sofa in the waiting room was comfortable, the magazines up to date and the temperature pleasant enough. Shanahan didn’t know how long it had been before the word ‘Shanahan’ pierced his dozing mind. He had to shake himself alert and stand still for a moment after he stood so the blood flow could catch up with him. A little feeble physically and mentally, he followed the woman into Holcomb’s office. Whoever the attorney met with before Shanahan arrived had left through a different door – common law-office design, he imagined, when the business at hand was often between battling opponents.

  ‘We can’t keep meeting like this,’ Holcomb said, smiling. It was a brief smile and his statement held more truth than humor. He stood directly in front of Shanahan, a clear indication he wasn’t being invited to stay.

  ‘I see you understand the nuances of body language.’

  ‘I’ve made commitments to other people.’

  ‘People who are paying you for your time.’

  ‘Precisely,’ Holcomb said.

  ‘You were uncomfortable when Swann came into the committee room to testify.’

  ‘And how do you know that?’

  ‘I’m a professional investigator.’ Shanahan wasn’t sure he’d ever said it that way. But Holcomb was using subtle intimidation to shrug off Shanahan’s questions. And it might have gotten Shanahan equal footing, at least for a moment. Holcomb relaxed, stepped back.

  ‘I was extremely disappointed. I thought the hearing was nearing an end. And when I saw it was a policeman, a plainclothes policemen, it seemed like all hope was thrown overboard, the case would go on forever and I’d get all tied up with meaningless crap, excuse the language, like this.’ It was clear he was referring to the current conversation.

  ‘Surprised Card too.’

  ‘I noticed that. We all expected the witness wouldn’t be so reputable.’

  ‘Yet you pretty much took him apart, this reputable witness.’

  ‘What are you trying to say, Mr Shanahan?’

  ‘You acted as Card’s personal defense attorney, Mr Holcomb.’

  ‘Instinct. I am a defense attorney. It’s the way I get to the truth.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘In the same imperfect way American justice works.’

  ‘You were also in possession of knowledge about Swann’s presence at the event in question that had not been discussed in your meetings, that had not appeared in any reports or transcripts you were given.’

  ‘Really, and how do you know all this?’ Holcomb asked, already heading for the door. He opened it. ‘Look, people talk,’ he said, ‘in hallways, public restrooms and over drinks at the bar. If you remember, I was the one who first mentioned the Card case. I told you about it. Why would I do that if I were involved in some nefarious conspiracy with the man? And what do you think I’m getting from Card? I don’t even like the guy.’

  ‘Do you know a woman named Samantha Byers?’ Shanahan asked, stopping in the doorway.

  ‘I know what the newspaper says.’

  ‘You represent rich criminals, you said. Does that mean organized crime?’

  ‘I’m not sure there is such a thing, Mr Shanahan. Just business and variations on greed. Some take more risks than others. I try to help judges and district attorneys interpret the rules.’ He stepped back. ‘You may have all day to chat …’

  ‘I have a library to visit, old news to look up, connections to make.’

  There was no offer to shake hands.

  He hadn’t upset Holcomb as much as he’d wanted. Then again, keeping cool was something Holcomb practiced regularly. No matter. If the young, rich and handsome attorney was involved, the pot was stirred. If he wasn’t involved, then Shanahan had made a grand fool of himself. At this point, that was the only thing Shanahan could do. Not much to lose, was there? Shanahan asked himself.

  The walk from Holcomb’s office near the copper glass-covered box that was the City-County Building (City Hall) to the library was seven or eight blocks. Flat, thank God, interrupted, further thanks to God, by memorials and parks with benches. This area was the most monumental area of a city devoted to monuments.

  Shanahan put the library visit off to eat a slice from Datsa Pizza. The place used to be a Toddle House years ago, Shanahan remembered. Still had the same blue-tiled roof. The Ambassador Apartments were across the street, a large building with tons of charming, little studios. He had had some business in a couple of them over the years. The Ambassador had been renovated with some folderol not that long ago, as had the library. The original book palace was a handsome building of formal Greek architecture. That stately building now sat in front of an expanded gigantic glass mirrored addition. The formidable library capped several block-long memorials to dead soldiers.

  Shanahan climbed the grand steps as a man who possessed more time than energy, yet he felt he had little of either. He entered the building, past the sculptures, between the Doric columns, through various sets of old doors into an old interior. Inside was as before. He could see into the next room, huge, new and full of color. It was a strange feeling. He felt a hand clutch his shoulder, stopping him.

  ‘You’re coming with me,’ the voice said. They were outside again. He had been pulled back. Shanahan turned. It was Card. He was in his blues. One hand remained at Shanahan’s neck, the other on his .45, holster already unsnapped. This was a public performance. It didn’t matter. Shanahan wasn’t strong enough to resist.

  ‘My heart,’ Shanahan said as loud as he could and still appear feeble. He clutched his chest.

  They stopped at the top of the steps. Fat slices of snow fell, slowly and feebly as the last of the confetti falls after the parade is over.

  Shanahan put one foot in front of Card’s ankle and pulled his head free while pushing as hard as he could on Card’s back.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  In a blue blur the man was gone, falling, tumbling, sliding down the steps amid the scattering gasps. Shanahan turned back, quickly entering the library, and headed to a historically preserved room just off the entry.

  Shanahan found himself in a nice office. He took the wrinkled trench coat off the coat rack, the scarf, and the umbrella that could easily double as a walking stick or weapon. He stole the hat too and went back the way he came, this time walking up the steps and into the new, modern space. Card had recovered and limped quickly into the vast space. The angry cop, somewhat disheveled, his mad eyes dismissing the newly formed Shanahan, came within a few feet of his disguised prey.

  Shanahan ducked down to a side door. He walked south on Meridian, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirrored exterior wall of the library’s new addition. He looked like some old, stylized private eye. For a moment he found humor in life’s absurdities and took a moment of pride in having been so clever in giving Card the slip. He crossed St Clair and stood near the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier to see Card leave. The cop had called no back-up. No cops came to help him search. This was personal and Card wanted to keep it that way. In fifteen minutes Card came back out of the main door, descended the steps and got into a squad car. Lights flashed. A siren screamed. Tires peeled. Card threw a tantrum. Shanahan’s lightness of being brought about by a momentary triumph in the library gave way to a reality too heavy to dismiss. He’d gone too far. He’d poked Card’s reptilian brain. That put not only his life in greater danger, but also Maureen’s.

  As the adrenaline dipped and his mind cleared, he realized he had told Holcomb where he was going. That Card knew to find him in the library confirmed the connection between the two. Not too bright of Holcomb or Card. On second thought, Shanahan decided, it was probably Card who jumped the gun.

  Shanahan crossed the street, up the lib
rary steps, back into the office he had slipped off to. There was a man with a beard, thinning hair, thick glasses, a tweed coat and a camel cashmere V-neck sweater. Shanahan took off the borrowed overcoat, hung it on the hook, unwrapped the scarf, folded it and put it in the overcoat’s pocket. He put the hat on top of the stand, carefully. The man didn’t speak until Shanahan nodded a sort of ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Anything else I can do for you?’ the man asked.

  ‘Now that you mention it, may I use your phone?’

  Kowalski and Collins met Shanahan at the City Market. It was just past lunchtime so the walkways between booths were without bustle. Kowalski held a cup of coffee, his body relaxed. Collins stood facing Shanahan.

  ‘I know you don’t want to hear it,’ Shanahan said, ‘but Card has turned into a mad dog.’

  ‘Kowalski told me what you say happened. Sounds like resisting arrest, if you ask me. Assault.’

  ‘So then he called in, asked for back-up to apprehend a perp who assaulted him and got away?’ Kowalski took a sip of coffee.

  Collins said nothing.

  ‘C’mon Collins, give it up. You have a rogue cop on your hands,’ Kowalski said.

  Shanahan’s legs were weak and wobbly from walking back. He headed toward the front to find a place to sit.

  ‘The only person who knew I was going to the library was Daniel Holcomb,’ Shanahan said, ‘the person who helped him skate on charges of killing some innocent kid.’

  ‘I’ve got to get back to work,’ Collins said. ‘I’ll have a chat with Card.’

  ‘Yeah, give him a time out,’ Shanahan said. ‘The sniper’s car was in Card’s driveway. They’re connected.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, like your memory is going to hold up in court.’ Collins headed toward the door.

  ‘Harold will testify to that,’ Shanahan said. ‘How do you think I located Samantha? Harold got her address from her car in his driveway.’

  Collins kept going until his phone beeped. He stopped.

  ‘You and Maureen can come up to my place to hide out,’ Kowalski said.

  Collins came back, his face unreadable.

  ‘Samantha Byers no longer exists,’ he said. ‘Swann got a call.’

  ‘How?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘Shiv. It happened in the john. I told Swann to send some uniforms out to pick him up.’

  ‘When?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘Just an hour or two ago.’

  ‘They get who did it? Shanahan asked.

  Collins shrugged. ‘Nobody saw anything.’

  ‘Did Card have her killed? Or was Card’s attack on me a reaction to Samantha’s death?’ Shanahan asked.

  ‘Or did Holcomb worry about too many people knowing what had happened?’ Kowalski added.

  ‘Anyone besides you he might be after?’ Collins asked.

  ‘Maureen, for spite,’ Shanahan said.

  ‘Find a safe place,’ Collins said.

  ‘Great advice. No wonder you’ve gotten so far.’

  Collins was too concerned about current events to be bothered with the sarcasm. He had a more serious problem. Cop on cop. ‘We’ll work it out, Shanahan. Don’t provoke him. You’re off the case anyway, right? Go find a cabin on a mountaintop.’

  Collins disappeared.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ Kowalski asked.

  Shanahan nodded. ‘Is there a way to get a list of Daniel Holcomb’s clients?’

  ‘That would be fun.’

  ‘And useful,’ Shanahan added.

  ‘Why don’t you have Maureen go up to my place now?’ Kowalski pulled out his cell. ‘What’s her number?’

  Shanahan told him. Kowalski poked at the numbers, listened for a moment and handed the phone to Shanahan.

  ‘Kowalski wants you to sleep at his place tonight.’

  ‘Oh?’ Maureen said.

  ‘He and I made a deal.’

  ‘How much did you get?’

  After calling Maureen, Shanahan brought Jennifer Bailey up to date. He didn’t have to, but he thought she was entitled to know. And he wanted to keep that lifeline open in case he needed it. Not knowing the mind of the increasingly crazed cop, she needed to know he was not to be trusted.

  Kowalski lived in Ravenswood, another one of those neighborhoods – Woodruff Place and Beech Grove – that maintained an independent attitude toward the city that surrounded them. Ravenswood residents, more than the others, regard those they don’t know with suspicion and are not generally fond of outside authority – cops, for example. Harley-riding James Fenimore Kowalski fit in perfectly.

  ‘There’s a shotgun in the closet by the backdoor,’ he said to Shanahan and Maureen as part of the welcome speech. They had been to Kowalski’s place a few times, but not always when they were under siege. ‘There’s a nine millimeter behind Last of The Mohicans on the bookshelf here,’ he said, pointing to the classic on a shelf near the front door. And an M14 in the closet in the upstairs hall. You’ll be sleeping up there. You know the M14?’

  ‘I do,’ Shanahan answered. That was still the standard issue rifle when he retired.

  ‘All weapons are loaded, so be careful,’ Kowalski said. ‘Also,’ he continued as he headed for three glasses and a bottle of Scotch, ‘there’s an outboard tied up at the dock down from the back door.’

  ‘You ever thought of raising an army?’ Shanahan asked, while Kowalski poured two fingers of Scotch into Maureen’s glass.

  ‘Or a navy,’ Maureen said.

  ‘I’m sorry. No rum,’ he said to Maureen. ‘I’ll get some in.’

  ‘I’m hoping to wrap all of this up pretty quick,’ Shanahan said.

  Kowalski was a good host. He put on some music, starting with ‘Gloomy Sunday’ and ‘Nightmare,’ both performed by Artie Shaw.

  ‘It will lighten up,’ Kowalski assured them. Chardonnay and roasted chicken for the evening. He shoed Maureen from the kitchen with a refill of the Scotch.

  ‘When we go, we will feel no pain,’ she said.

  ‘That’s the idea. It’s also important to keep labor at a minimum. By the way, the secret to roast chicken is that there is no secret to roast chicken. Just roast the damned thing,’ he said. ‘Now, how about a little roasted human?’ He went to the fireplace and set the stack of wood newspapers on fire.

  ‘Good idea,’ Shanahan said. ‘We don’t want the chicken to have all the fun.’

  ‘Here’s the list of Holcomb’s clients,’ Kowalski said, dodging his bulldog, who waddled toward Maureen. She had settled near the fireplace to hand some papers to Shanahan. ‘Plenty of big names, but not those you’d expect to find on a list of criminals.

  ‘In most situations, the indictments don’t come down, especially if the attorney is up to snuff. No one even knows there were criminal inquiries. Sometimes a deal, usually in the form of a fine, is struck. All hush-hush. Sometimes, before entering a deal, a corporation will call in the appropriate attorney for advice on how to do what they want to do without chancing arrest.’

  Shanahan scanned the list again. Some names gave no clue to the kind of business they were: holding companies that owned holding companies. He did recognize a hotel, realtors, developers, a publisher, venture capitalists and a number of politicians. It wasn’t particularly helpful. On the surface no individual or company fit. And there was the chance that Holcomb was doing some business on his own.

  ‘The morose music is apropos,’ Shanahan said. ‘I’ll never be able to make sense of all this.’

  ‘I’m not sure someone like Holcomb would tap a low-life like Card unless he felt he had no choice. He may be morally challenged, but he’s not stupid,’ Kowalski said.

  ‘I’m not sure I can sleep,’ Maureen said in the darkness. ‘In a way I hope so … it’s not home.’

  ‘You slept in Hawaii.’

  ‘I did. That doesn’t count.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Hawaii is a sleeper’s paradise. The waves, the sun, the breeze.’

  ‘Close your eyes and pr
etend you are in Hawaii,’ Shanahan said.

  ‘You think I can’t talk with my eyes closed?’

  ‘Give me some credit.’

  ‘Do you think Card blames you for Samantha’s death?’

  ‘In a way, I hope so.’

  ‘You really hate him, don’t you?’

  ‘I’ve never hated anyone.’

  ‘Until now,’ Maureen said.

  ‘I hated Hitler, but never someone I knew, and I’ve run into some not very nice people over the years. Other people have tried to kill me. It was business.’

  ‘Business?’

  ‘Nothing personal. Card killed someone who was doing good for people who needed help. Card killed a kid and I believe he took gratification from a senseless act.’

  What he didn’t say was that in those days before Maureen, he didn’t have the fear of losing her. It wasn’t just his life in the balance.

  ‘Aloha,’ she said.

  Daylight came slowly on overcast fall mornings. The air was thick with cold and dampness. That much Shanahan could see through the bedroom window. He dressed, slipping into his shoes without untying them. Untying them wasn’t the problem. Tying them with his half-dead left hand was nearly impossible. He’d have to wait until Maureen got up so he could stand there like a two-year-old while she did it.

  Scrambled eggs, bacon, coffee. Kowalski was an attentive host even without a couple of glasses of whiskey. Shanahan thought the lawyer’s coffee was suspect, though.

  ‘Go look out the front door,’ he said with a half-smile that suggested Shanahan was about to see something extraordinarily funny or extraordinarily grotesque.

  Shanahan did. A police car, a black-and-white, was parked out front.

  ‘Are we having company for breakfast?’

  ‘The front door on the driver’s side was open. Footprints in the frost indicated the driver had walked around the house. Just before making a complete circle, another set of footprints, slightly larger, intersected with the first. Both continued to the water’s edge. Both disappeared.’