Gumshoe Ghost Mystery: Dying for the Past Part 32

"Not to be trusted," Angel said, taking a long sip of her wine. "Ruth-Ann, how can we help?"

Bear rolled his eyes. "Sure, okay, Ms. Marcos, Captain Sutter said do it. So I'm doing it. What do you want?"

"Nothing difficult. Just watch and listen. Report what you can find out to me. I need to know what he's about to do before he does it and I need to know what he does about Bonnie Grecco and Stephanos's murder case. The moment he learns where she is, I need to know so I can get her out of the way myself."

Bear shifted his gaze from Angel to me and his bourbon gla.s.s several times. "All right, Ms. Marcos. In two and a half hours, I'm going to apprehend Victorio Chevez and his client-the one who paid him to stalk Angela. Either of them may be Grecco's killer." He went on to explain everything that had transpired, including Chevy's escape from the Vincent House and the planned rendezvous with his client later tonight.

"And tonight?" Ruth-Ann asked. "How will you handle him?"

"Dobron knows about it but told me to handle it. I have no idea what he's doing. Last I knew, he was investigating the two bodies found at the Vincent House and searching for Bonnie."

"Good." Ruth-Ann sipped her wine and looked pleased. "Keep me informed on Chevez, Detective. His role in this isn't clear. I agree his stalking Angela is no coincidence. This client of his is very interesting-if there is one. Soon as you can, contact Dobron and find out if he has anything new. Here is my private cell phone." She handed Bear a card. "It is not for anyone else's eyes."

I said, "Bear, ask her about the book."

He did.

She didn't disappoint. "It's the center of it all, isn't it? Decades ago, the Calaprese families were both targets of our government and informants for us. They were instrumental in helping flush out n.a.z.i rings and infiltrating Soviet Intelligence cells. Yet, at the same time, we were after Calaprese's organization, too. My, what I would give to have lived then."

"I'll say," Angel said. "And it somehow got Stephanos Grecco killed."

"Yes. It's possible he found the book-or learned where it was. I believe the book has been kept up-to-date over the years by the Calaprese family. I also believe there are mob ties and enemy agents identified in the book as recently as ten to fifteen years ago. And money-let me tell you-there may be millions the book could help us locate."

I said, "Bear, do you think Dobron or his men are after the book, too? You've been around him, what do you think?"

"Dobron is clean, Ms. Marcos," he said. "I'd bet on it."

"You would?" Her eyebrows rose. "Captain Sutter told me you were her best detective and I could rely on your judgment. Perhaps she is wrong."

"No," Angel said. "What makes you so sure he's wrong about Agent Dobron?"

"Heredity." Ruth-Ann emptied her wine gla.s.s in one long, deep swallow. "Agent James Dobron's real name-before his parents changed it-was Dmitry Alexandrovich Dobronranov."

fifty-four.

It was close to midnight and Old Town Winchester still had a few pockets of sound and light. Several bars and restaurants along the walking mall remained open and their nightlife reached us from all directions. An occasional couple strolled down the brick streets beneath the nineteenth-century streetlights. Small groups of people sat at sidewalk tables enjoying the warm spring night. Music and laughter fluttered in the air everywhere.

Bear and I sat on the second floor of a Civil War era shop. The brick building was under renovation-a good many of the historic Old Town buildings were. This one was located at the center of Old Town. From the second floor windows, we could see anyone or anything moving up or down the Old Town Mall.

We were in perfect position.

The Old Town Mall was not a mall at all-not by any teenager's standards, anyway. It was a two-block area in the heart of Winchester where vehicles were prohibited and the shops and buildings were reminiscent of nineteenth-century Americana. Loudoun Street, which runs north-south through town, intersects Cork Street to the south and Piccadilly Street to the north. To the east and west are Cameron and Braddock Streets, respectively, and within these confines are restaurants, antique shops, and miscellaneous retail and businesses alike. Close to the center of the Mall is the historic courthouse-perhaps the most prominent landmark in Winchester-surrounded by dozens of historical buildings dating back to the mid-1700s. While Winchester has a long and proud Civil War heritage, its roots predate the American Revolution.

Tonight, though, Bear wasn't expecting any historic battles. He just wanted to catch one solitary killer. Just one.

He picked up a small walkie-talkie. "Spence, are you set up?"

Spence and several uniformed Winchester officers were covering the Mall at the north and south entrances. Other officers were posted at along Braddockand Cameron streets and at strategic points within the Mall.

"Yeah, Bear. We're ready," Spence radioed back. "Nothing is getting out of the mall tonight. I promise you."

"It better not."

I said, "Bear, Chevy knows you'll be looking for him. What makes you think he's stupid enough to come here anyway? He could just call his client and change the venue."

"He needs money. And he said his mysterious client wouldn't answer his calls-only one-way communication. His phone records proved it. So he can't change the meeting."

"So if he wants money he has to show."

Bear nodded and peered out into the darkness. "Besides, he thinks he's smarter than me. He'll want to show everyone he can make a fool out of me twice."

"How do you know?"

Bear leaned back from the window. "Because the stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d is walking this way."

Ambling down Boscawen Street from the east, a single figure turned north up Loudoun Street heading toward the old courthouse square. He hesitated at the intersection, looked around-for us I'm sure-before increasing his pace.

"Are you sure it's him?"

"Yes. Come on." Bear headed for the stairs as he radioed Spence. "I want to be the one who grabs him."

On the Mall, Bear stayed close to the shop walls where the darkness hid his big frame. The figure stopped at the base of the Confederate War Memorial fifty yards ahead of us and faced the courthouse. As the figure looked around, the nearby street lamps cast enough hazy light to make his identification easy.

It was Victorio Chevez.

Bear waited across the square, secreted in the dark entrance to an old antique shop. "What is he doing?"

"Waiting."

"Here? Out in the open? They've been playing I-spy games and tonight they meet in the center of the square?"

Good point.

Just as Bear picked up his radio, Chevy lifted his cell phone to his ear. We couldn't make out what he said, but he tapped off the call, stood up, and walked toward the courthouse steps. He made it halfway and stopped.

A strange, whirling noise-faint at first, then louder-sounded overhead. The sound grew louder and circled us just above the treetops.

"What the h.e.l.l?" Bear stepped out of the entranceway to get a better view. "Tuck, do you hear a whining noise?"

"You mean, other than yours? I do. Look."

In a descending spiral, a dark object whirled above the square spiraling moving down toward Chevy. I turned to him and stood watching a radio-controlled model helicopter finish its descent and stop to hover six feet above the ground an arm's length from us.

"I hope this isn't your ride, Chevy. What are you doing?"

No, it wasn't taking him anywhere. It wasn't intended to.

Chevy took something out of his jeans pocket and slipped it over the helicopter's landing skid. He stepped back and waved his arm in the air. Then he jumped and looked around.

Running feet approached us from both sides of the courthouse.

"FBI, freeze! Don't move!" someone yelled as two men ran out of the shadows toward Chevy. "Stay where you are. FBI."

The helicopter lifted airborne. It climbed to the rooftops with a high-pitched whine and darted south down Loudoun Street.

Chevy turned toward Bear, flipped him the bird, and took off at a dead run north up the Mall away from him and the FBI men. He was laughing.

The FBI made chase. "FBI, stop!"

"Bear," I yelled, "the flash drive's on the helicopter."

Bear was already moving. "Dobron, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d." He bolted after the toy helicopter shouting orders into his radio. "Spence, Chevy's northbound toward you. Cut him off. There's a model helicopter above the trees. It's heading toward Cork Street-everyone else go after it."

I followed Bear.

A hudred yards ahead of us, the helicopter rose in a sharp arc disappeared west over the rooftops. Bear turned into a parking lot entrance farther up and continued after it. At a dead run he crossed the parking lot to Braddock Street just in time to see the helicopter swoop down and crash-land into the rear of a pickup truck driving away from him. The truck make a turn west up a side street and disappeared.

He bellowed the description of the truck into the radio as he stopped, staring after it. "Unbelievable. We lost it."

"What about Chevy," I asked. "We better go help Spence."

"I'm gonna kill him."

Bear jogged back toward the square calling Spence on his radio.

"He's gone, Bear," Spence radioed. "He ducked down the alley to the parking garage. None of the units saw him come out but we can't find him. Agent Dobron is pitching a hissy-fit at me. What should I tell him?"

"Tell him to screw off," Bear yelled. "Any motorcycles around?"

Spence did a radio roll call of the other officers on the stakeout. "Negative, Bear. No one saw him drive in or out and there's no bike around here."

"Unbelievable." Bear slowed his pace. "Keep looking."

Back at the intersection of Loudoun and Boscawen, just below the window where we'd watched the square fifteen minutes earlier, Bear stopped and looked around. "What now? Where do we look for him?"

"Beats me," I said. "Ask Dobron. He's coming this way."

Agent Dobron and another FBI man jogged up. Agent Dobron's face was flush with exhaustion and anger. "Braddock, how did you let this get away from you?"

"Me? You b.a.s.t.a.r.d-" Bear jumped forward and drove an angry finger into Agent Dobron's chest. "You told me to handle this. You spooked him by charging out of the alley. I could have had him. What are you doing here, anyway?"

The second FBI man stepped forward and shoved Bear. He tried to grapple for Bear's arm when Agent Dobron interceded.

"Let him alone, Stevens. Take another look around. And get with Detective Spence and organize a sweep of the area. I want Chevez found-tonight." He turned to Bear. "How'd he get past your men, Detective?"

Bear cursed. "Me? You chased him. I went after the helicopter -you know, the one with the evidence on it. I would have gone for him but you two were already pursuing him. I figured the FBI could handle that much."

"You should have had more men."

"You should have told me you were here."

"I don't report to you. You report to me."

"So I guess you're still responsible then."

"You're in big trouble, Detective."

Bear jammed a gun-finger at him again. "Listen to me, Dobron. I've had it with you. You screwed up my stakeout. Because of you we lost the evidence and our suspect. Don't blame this on me. And you never answered me. Why are you here?"

Agent Dobron's mouth clamped tight and he turned away, looking around the Mall at nothing. I don't know if he was thinking of an answer or trying to decide if he could take a cheap shot at Bear's jaw and survive.

He chose right. "What did you learn from Ruth-Ann Marcos tonight?"

"Ruth-Ann?" Bear's eyes narrowed and he smiled a silly, "oh you fool" smile. "You were staking out Angela's house."

Agent Dobron didn't answer.

"You jerk. I'm off your team, Dobron. I quit. You're an a.s.shole."

"And you're looking at a suspension. All I have to do is call Captain Sutter and-"

"And what?" Bear stepped forward again. "She'll tell you to p.i.s.s-off when she hears what I got on you."

"What does that mean?" Bear ignored him. His face darkened and his voice grew tense. "I asked you a question, Detective. What are you suggesting?"

"Screw you."

Agent Dobron's face twisted. Then, after a long moment, he stepped back and held up his hands. "All right, this is out of hand. You're right, I should have informed you I joined your surveillance. But I didn't know if I could trust you after I saw Marcos leaving Tucker's house tonight."

"Trust him? Are you kidding?" I said and Bear repeated me.

"Truce, Detective." Agent Dobron patted the air again. "But I have to know-what did she tell you?"

Bear shook his head. "Sorry, it's cla.s.sified. You understand."

Agent Dobron cursed. "Let me guess. She told you my team and I are under investigation. Right? Corruption? Maybe I'm a Soviet spy or something. Maybe I killed Grecco, too."

"Did you?" Bear didn't so much as raise an eyebrow. "Are you confessing?"

"No. You have to understand, Detective," Agent Dobron said. "She's running for the Senate and she needs to play hardball. Some of her cases have gone bad and she wants a scapegoat-me. But it's all politics. We're clean. I'd vouch for every one of my men. The Bureau-"

"Screw the Bureau," Bear snapped. "I don't give a d.a.m.n about your politics-with either of you. I want to find a killer. Period."