“The Silver Bullet boys have come a long way in a short time,” Kylie said as soon as Hirsch left.
“How so?” I said.
“When we first met them, they were friends for life and beloved by one and all. Now two of them are murdered, and Survivor One is willing to throw Survivor Two under the bus to save his own skin.”
“I guess you never know who your real friends are until you come face-to-face with a Haitian drug lord who’s threatening to put a bomb under your ass.”
My landline rang.
“Speaking of bombs,” I said, “it’s Howard Malley.” I put him on speaker. “Agent Malley, you’ve got us both. What did you come up with?”
“No surprises. The two bombs were identical. The second one has the same Flynn Samuels signature touches as the first.”
“But Mr. Samuels couldn’t have built the bombs because he’s still in a prison in Thailand,” I said.
“He’s got a lifetime commitment, and as far as we know, he’s never taught anyone the tricks of his trade.”
“Any chance he may have a secret Haitian apprentice?” Kylie said.
Malley laughed. “An Aussie bomb maker in a Thai prison with a Haitian groupie. Sounds like you guys have cracked the code.”
“You’re not funny, and you’re not helping, Malley,” Kylie said.
“Then my work is done. As we say at the Bureau, ‘We’re not happy till you’re not happy.’”
He hung up.
“There may not be a connection between Malique La Grande and Flynn Samuels,” I said, “but Hirsch’s story about a twenty-year-old drug deal gone south is the first time we’ve even heard a viable motive for these killings.”
“Or it could be the delusions of a paranoid lawyer. The only one who can confirm or deny what Hirsch said is La Grande, and guys like him pay lawyers a lot of money to keep guys like us from asking questions.”
“It couldn’t hurt to give it a try,” I said, reaching for the phone.
“Great. Do you have him on speed dial, or did you Google heroin distributors Brooklyn?”
“It’s a long shot, but I think we have a connection,” I said, dialing the landline and keeping it on speaker.
“Who are you calling?”
“Danny Corcoran.”
He answered on the first ring.
“Danny, we need a favor.”
“Name it.”
“You worked Narcotics in Brooklyn, right?” I said.
“Five glorious years.”
“Kylie and I need a sit-down with Malique La Grande.”
“No problem, Zach. Malique is having dinner with me, Angela, and the kids tonight. Why don’t you guys swing by?”
“Danny, I know this is a big ask.”
“Bigger than you think. Malique and I have an ugly history. I can’t exactly pop by and ask if he wants to chat it up with two of my cop buddies.”
“You bust him?”
“Just the opposite. I could never get him dirty, so I spent years fucking with him. Booting his car, hauling him in on every candy-ass charge I could come up with, and one time I got a snitch to tell me where his stash was, and it cost him a bunch of guns and eighty ten-dollar bags. We’re not exactly Facebook friends, Zach. When did you start talking to drug dealers?”
“He may have a connection to the multiple-bombing case we’re working.”
“Bombs aren’t Malique’s style.”
“Zoe Pound is the only lead we have.”
“I wish you had called me a month ago. I had a better relationship with his former boss, Dingo Slide.”
“I heard Dingo is dead, and Malique took over.”
“Whoever told you that left out some details. Dingo died of natural causes: lung cancer. His heir apparent was a nephew, Kervin Blades. But Blades died three days after Uncle Dingo—unnatural causes: lead poisoning. Then Malique took over.”
“Work your magic, Danny. We need this.”
“It would be easier if you needed an audience with the Pope or Springsteen tickets, but give me a day, maybe two. I’ll see what I can do.”
I thanked him and hung up.
“I’m impressed,” Kylie said.
“Hey, every now and then I have a good idea,” I said.
“Not with you. I’m impressed that Corcoran can score Springsteen tickets.”
A rookie opened the door. “Detectives, there’s a guy out front who wants to see you—both of you—but he won’t come in the building.”
“Did he give you his name?” Kylie said.
“No, ma’am. He just said he’d be waiting for you in his car.”
“What kind of car?”
“A Benz. Silver S550. Totally badass.”
“Q,” I said to Kylie. “Judge Rafferty accused him of blackmail, and we never got back to him.”
“Tell the guy in the badass Benz that we’ll be down in a few minutes,” Kylie said to the rookie. “It’s not like we have anything else to do.”