The Thirteenth Skull (Alfred Kropp #3)(6)

“You never saw this delivery dude before?” Kennard asked.

I shook my head. “Never.”

“Okay, Alfred,” Meredith Black said softly. “So far you haven’t told us anything we couldn’t figure out for ourselves.”

“You’re a step ahead of me, then,” I said.

Kennard came over the table toward me, biceps bulging in his tight white dress shirt. His breath smelled bad, like stale coffee and cigarettes.

“Look, punk, five brothers of mine died today because of you—cops who had wives, families ... a nd they ain’t goin’ home to see them tonight because some oversize kid wanted to act out a scene from Grand Theft Auto!”

Meredith grabbed his shoulder and eased him back into his chair. “Louis, come on. He’s just a kid ...”

“I didn’t know he rigged the truck to explode,” I cried. The remark about the dead policemen had hurt. “I swear I didn’t! And I don’t know who he was or who sent him to kill me or even why they sent him to kill me! I’m trying to stay out of crap like this.”

I stopped myself. Kennard was sitting back in his chair trying to catch his breath. Meredith was staring at me. I glanced down at the tape recorder.

“You’re trying to stay out?” she asked quietly.

“You bet. Yes.” Don’t say any more. Wait for Mr. Needlemier.

“Stay out of what?”

“Stuff.”

“Stuff like—what?”

“Like what happened this morning. I’ve got enough blood—” I was going to say on my hands, but in a situation like this, you don’t want to use phrases like I’ve got enough blood on my hands.

“I could relieve you of some, if you want,” Kennard growled.

I took a very deep breath. “I really don’t think I should say anything else until Mr. Needlemier gets here.”

“We know who you are,” Kennard said. “We ran you through Interpol. Didja think we wouldn’t think to do that?

“No, because I don’t even know what Interpol is.”

“A year ago. Stonehenge and several thousand pounds of explosives. Ten Most Wanted list. Ring a bell?”

“That was all a mistake,” I said. “A big misunderstanding.”

“Uh-huh,” he sneered.

“They took me off the list, didn’t they?”

“Alfred,” Detective Black said. “We want to help you, but we can’t help you if you keep refusing to help us. You know more about what happened this morning than you’re letting on. We already have you on the kidnapping and carjacking. The truth can only help you now. Tell us.”

I chewed on my bottom lip. I really didn’t know what the right thing to do was at that moment. How much should I tell them? Should I tell them anything at all? And even if I did tell them just a little of it, would they believe me?

“I think he was an assassin,” I said slowly.

Kennard laughed. “You think?”

Meredith leaned forward. Her breath smelled as good as Kennard’s did bad. Like cotton candy. “Who was an assassin?”

“Delivery Dude.”

“Do you have any idea why someone would want to kill you?”

Should I tell them? And if I did tell them, what was going to happen to me? I couldn’t prove anything and they probably wouldn’t even believe me. But they were cops, even this nasty Kennard dude, and Meredith Black had a kind face and she gave off the attitude like she liked me and wanted to help me. And I had a feeling the only way to get out of this mess was to rely on the one thing you’re supposed to rely on when things get really messed up: the truth.

So I said, “OIPEP.”

“Oypep?”

“What’s an OIPEP?” Kennard wondered aloud.

“The Office of Interdimensional Paradoxes and Extraordinary Phenomenon,” I said. “OIPEP.”

“Oh, sure,” Kennard said. “I should have figured that.” He turned to Meredith. “Give me five minutes alone with him. Five minutes, all I need.”

“I had a meeting this morning with the director,” I said. “And she asked for the—for something I have and I refused to give it back and I think she ordered ...” I swallowed hard. I always liked Abigail Smith. I always thought she was one of the good guys. “I think the Company might have done all this to get it back.”

“The Company?”

“OIPEP.”

“Oy ... pep?” Kennard asked.

“What do you have, Alfred?” she asked.

I looked away. I wanted to talk to Samuel. I needed to talk to Samuel. He was OIPEP’s former Operative Nine, its top agent. He would be able to tell me if it had been a Company operation.

But I didn’t have Samuel. And I didn’t have Mr. Needlemier. I didn’t have anybody.

“I’ll tell you,” I said to Meredith Black. “But he’s got to leave first.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he said.

“Then you better just take me to my cell,” I said.

That produced a fierce whispering argument between them, an argument Detective Kennard lost, I guessed, because he pushed out of his chair so fast it fell over with a loud clang. He pointed a fat finger at my bandaged nose.