A String of Beads (Jane Whitefield, #8)(39)

“Mr. Malconi wouldn’t have done that for me,” said Crane. “He doesn’t even know I exist.”

Salamone looked at Crane again. His face seemed to express simple curiosity, as though he were seeing a rare creature for the first time. “You’re not getting this. You killed somebody, which is the kind of behavior that causes trouble, gets you noticed, and poses a risk to everybody who deals with you. I’m letting that slide because it’s love, and I’m a sucker for that. But now you want to kill another person, this Indian. Call it off.”

“I can’t do that,” said Crane. “It’s too late. I’ve hired three guys to get arrested, add another offense to their records, and then wait around for a month or more for the Indian to get caught.”

Salamone shrugged cheerfully. “I didn’t say you couldn’t pay them what you offered. In fact, I’d like you to do that, to tie up the loose ends. You don’t want guys like that thinking you stiffed them. If you pay them, they’ll be happy that they didn’t have to do anything to earn it.”

“I really don’t know how to pull this off,” Crane said. “How can I have a secret conversation with them now that they’re in jail?”

“I’ll tell you what. And I don’t know why I’m doing this, except that I feel sorry for you. Get me the names and the lockups where they’ve been sent, and I’ll send somebody.” He paused. “Get them to me today, because I don’t want to lose you. The jails are just one of those areas that Mr. Malconi controls. If somebody gets killed in there, it better be something he set up, not you.”

“What can I do to make things right?” Crane’s throat was dry, and his voice came out in a raspy croak.

“Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. Once you give me those names and locations, I’ll get it called off. And I’ll take care of this problem with the Indian too.”

“I thought you didn’t want the Indian killed. And how can you even do it if even the police can’t find him?”

Salamone stood up, looked at his watch, and walked to the stairway, then stopped at the top. “It’s not your place to know any of that. Get me those names in the next hour. Then the thing in the jail will get called off, the Indian will go to wherever Indians go when they die, and you will owe me big.”





10



Jane drove the Chevrolet Malibu past the Legacy Village shopping mall in Lyndhurst in the eastern part of Cleveland, turned off the highway at the next street, and parked. She went into a drugstore and bought three prepaid cell phones and three cards worth three hundred minutes each. She paid in cash for them and walked away. The precautions she had used in the days when she had been taking people out of the world had all come back. She had fallen into old patterns again without effort. One day she had been searching for Jimmy, and the next she had been trying to make sure nobody else found him.

She kept the car she was using away from the security cameras installed outside stores by parking on the residential streets nearby and walking the rest of the way. Today she wore her hair loose so her face would be covered most of the time, and wore an oversize pair of sunglasses that would have disguised her by themselves. She stepped into the parking lot, attached herself to a gaggle of shoppers, and walked into the main entrance of the mall with them. Once she was inside she slipped into the first men’s clothing store where she wanted to shop.

Jane was being extremely careful for the moment. She had told Jimmy to stay within the hotel grounds. “It’s only temporary,” she said. “For now, we’ll keep you in the suite most of the time. You can go down to the pool and swim or work out in the fitness center on the second floor as long as you do it early in the morning before people get up. In a few days, when I know more about what’s going on, we may be able to loosen up a bit.”

Jimmy said, “It’s okay. I guess this will get me used to jail.”

“If we do everything right, maybe we can put that off for a long time.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I wish I could say you’d never have to go, but I think you will be charged, and you’ll have to be there until your trial.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m going to be considered a flight risk. That’s my fault.”

Jane said nothing. He had been sensible during the past few days at the hotel. He had gotten up at four each morning and gone down to the fitness center to exercise, and then out to the pool to swim. Then he’d come back and cooked himself some breakfast and read the newspaper that the hotel management left at their door overnight, and watched television or read the magazines she had brought him until evening, helped with dinner, and then gone to bed. Jane was glad that he was sane enough to do what he was told.

Jane had talked to Jimmy many times about the murder. Could he remember ever meeting a man named Walter Slawicky? Had there been a man with that name in the army, or at a construction job that he had forgotten until now? Could there have been someone else with that surname—a woman, or an elderly person? Had there been anyone with Nick Bauermeister the night of the fight? Had Jimmy ever owned a rifle like the one that had killed Bauermeister? She had tried every avenue she could think of to try to stimulate his memory, but gotten nowhere. Jimmy’s predicament seemed inexplicable. And the idea that anyone would get himself sent to jail to do Jimmy harm didn’t make sense either.