Phantom Limb (29 page)

When the report returned to the station's news desk, the anchor added, “Though unconfirmed, sources at the scene believe that another man, identity unknown, was in the boat, and had been held prisoner by Sykes and Griffin. Naturally, we'll keep following this story as it develops…”

I lowered the set's volume and gingerly sipped my coffee. The Harland money and influence may have succeeded in keeping Lisa's kidnapping out of the story, but it wouldn't for long. It would all eventually come out at Sykes' trial.

Though I doubted that Skip Hines would be able to maintain his own anonymity until then. Given the media's relentless probing, his identity was bound to be disclosed much sooner.

I hoped he'd be able to handle it. Regardless, I was prepared to help.

If he'd let me.

Chapter Forty

It felt strange, driving across town on a regular Tuesday afternoon, when normally I'd be in my Oakland office, seeing patients. Whatever solace I'd hoped to derive from my day off hadn't materialized, perhaps due to some questions still nagging me about the Sykes case. I couldn't tell. All I knew was that I was vaguely, irritatingly uneasy.

The wind had finally abated somewhat, and the weather report promised that calmer days were ahead for the Steel City. Which meant the return of those big, white, shoulder-pad clouds that often hunched over the county, along with the possibility of rain they usually augured.

I'd turned onto Second Avenue and was stopped at a light when my cell rang. This call surprised me even more than the one from Mike Payton.

“Danny? Dave Parnelli here. How's it hanging?”

I'd gotten acquainted with Assistant District Attorney Dave Parnelli last summer, in connection with that bank robbery case, before meeting up again during the Jessup investigation. Since then, we'd bumped into each other from time to time, usually at Noah's Ark. To the dismay of Noah, I'd introduced the brash, opinionated, heavy-drinking attorney to his bar, at which he was now a more or less regular customer.

For some reason, Dave Parnelli considered us good friends.
Paisans
, since we were both Italian-Americans. Brothers under the skin.

“What's up, Dave?” The light had turned green, so I switched to the hands-free app. I was in the middle of a phalanx of cars, buses, and smoke-belching semis.

“I just came from my initial sit-down with Sykes' lawyer. Real slick bastard, this one. Lotta prick potential.”

“Well, Sykes can afford the best.”

“I don't care if his lawyer's Clarence-fucking-Darrow, Sykes is toast. We've got him on kidnapping, attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder. Not to mention the trafficking charges, if the FBI gets off its ass and hands over their files. You know what those clowns are like. Stiffs in cheap suits.”

“I've had the pleasure, yeah.”

“Anyway, we got enough to put Sykes away for a couple lifetimes. He might even get the needle, if we can tie him to Griffin's acts. The DA wants that sucker on Death Row.”

“Maybe he can have the cell next to the Handyman.”

“Don't even
say
something like that. The voting public's furious that that sick bastard keeps dodging his death sentence with appeals. If Sykes' lawyer pulls the same shit…”

“You know he will, Dave. But why are you calling?”

“Can't a buddy just call to say hello?”

“Not when a high-profile case like this is gearing up.”

“When you're right, you're right. But I wanted to give you a heads-up. Sykes is gonna sue you for excessive force.”

“He's
what
?…”

“He claims unnecessary bodily harm when you tackled him on the boat. His lawyer's got the ME's report on his injuries, as well as that of his attending doctor at Pittsburgh Memorial. That's where they got Sykes now. Under guard, of course.”

“But I'm not a cop. How can he sue for excessive force?”

“I've seen it before, Danny. They'll argue that, as a paid consultant, you were acting in the capacity of an agent of the Department. Under its direction.”

“That's bullshit and you know it.”

“Sure I know it. But I can think of a few dickless judges who'll see the merits.”

“So what do I do now?”

“Nothing. Until Sykes' lawyer goes ahead and files the papers. Then
you
better get yourself a good lawyer, too. Call me when the time comes and I'll give you some referrals.”

Then Parnelli got another call on his line and had to hang up. Leaving me stuck in rush-hour traffic, with what felt like a coil of barbed wire twisting in my gut.

***

Happy Hour at Noah's Ark was even happier than usual, since the drinks were on the house. Charlene's way of celebrating the safe return of her brother Skip. Though when I showed up and took a stool at the crowded bar next to him, I didn't know how much detail he'd gone into with his sister about his ordeal.

So I asked him.

“I tried to keep most of it to myself,” he said, “but Charlene saw the news. Took her two seconds to figure out that
I
was the poor bastard rumored to be on the boat. Then I got a zillion questions about what happened to me, who this Sykes creep was, how I escaped. I told her it was you and some girl FBI agent. But mostly it was the girl.”

This last was said with a boozy grin. I could tell he'd already had more than a few.

“Well, you're right about Agent Reese. She's the real hero. But how are you doing? Any the worse for wear?”

“Nah. Dr. Yang checked me out and released me. She also saw me checkin'
her
out. Nice ass on that woman.”

“Christ, I hope you didn't come on to her.”

“Sure did. We're havin' dinner later tonight. Someplace nice. I just gotta hit Charlene up for a loan.”

I laughed, and motioned for Noah to come down to our end of the bar. He did, but wasn't too quick about it. And didn't look real happy.

“Look,” he said, “we're busy as hell, so I don't got time to chew the fat with you two jerks. What'll you have, Danny?”

“Whatever's on tap, Noah. But there's no rush.”

Skip held up his empty beer mug. “Same for me, okay, man?”

Noah glared at him. “You've had enough, Skip. It's still daylight. How much fuckin' celebratin' are you gonna do?”

“Shit, man. I'm just gettin' started.”

But I was peering carefully at the glint in Noah's eyes.

Then I turned to Skip. “Why don't you go ask Charlene to fix you something to eat? You can't keep drinking like that on an empty stomach.”

“Yeah? Just watch me…”

“Come on, Skip. Humor me, okay?”

“Okay. But only since you helped save my ass.”

His grumbled assent was only half in jest. Despite what had happened to him the night before, Skip was still, to my mind, on a potentially self-destructive path. One that—when and if he ever sobered up enough to talk to—I intended to try to steer him away from. With Charlene's help.

After Skip left to find his sister in the noisy sea of tables, I crooked my finger at Noah. Had him lean in closely.

“You still feeling a bit wiggy, Noah? I can't tell.”

He scowled. “Yeah, well, Dr. Nancy can. She showed up last night and read me the riot act.”

“Did she change your medication? Or the dosage?”

“Nah. Just reamed me out for skippin' the pills sometimes.”

“You're not taking your meds regularly? Dammit, Noah, you know better than that. I ought to clobber you.”

“Shit, man, I'm still hurtin' from Dr. Mendors bitch-slappin' me. But I'm back on the straight and narrow, Danny. Scout's honor.”

“Like you were ever a Boy Scout.”

“Hey, you don't know everything about me, man. You oughta see me tie a knot. Charlene thinks I'm real good at it, if ya know what I mean.”

His leering wink was a disconcerting addition to the glazed, intense look in his eyes. I knew that, even if he did return to taking his meds daily, it would be a while before they took effect.

Which was when it occurred to me that I'd probably be worry-
ing about Noah for the rest of his life. Or mine.

And that that was okay with me.

***

The decibel level at the bar rose significantly as more customers flowed in. Dusk had fallen, a damp gray mist over the river visible through the portholes at the back of the room.

I'd made my way to a rear corner and stood, beer in hand, near the swinging doors leading to the kitchen. As I'd hoped, Charlene soon came pushing through them, carrying a large tray laden with sandwiches and fries. She gave me a wink, promised she'd be back in a minute, and headed out to the crowded floor.

When she returned, she threw her arms around me and gave me a fierce hug. She was a big woman, and her embrace almost lifted me off my feet. The sweet tang of her sweat mixed with perfume filled my nostrils.

Finally, she released me, though she held me at out arms' length, her grip strong on my shoulders.

“My God, Danny, I don't know how I can ever thank you. My idiot brother got himself into a mountain of trouble and you got him out.”

“Forget it, Charlene. I'm just glad he's all right. At least physically. But you and I have to talk at some point.”

Her arms fell, hands finding pockets. “I know, he's all screwed up. The war, and his leg. Our old man was an alcoholic, so I know the signs. I've gotta get him to see it.”

“It won't be easy. Once the story about what happened to him last night comes out, his connection to that high-profile arrest…Trust me, Skip will be under intense media scrutiny. Which means huge stress. Not easy for anybody to handle.”

She nodded. Then her moist eyes found mine.

“But you'll help me, right, Danny? I mean, I love Noah, but with stuff like this…Hell, he's practically useless. It's hard enough for him to keep
himself
from goin' off the deep end.”

I assured her I'd do what I could. Then we hugged again.

“You gonna stay and eat? I can put together a table for the four of us, for later. Noah, me, you, and Skip.”

“I'd love to, but I promised someone I'd check in on her tonight. She's been through quite an ordeal herself.”

Charlene gave me a sad grin. “No rest for the weary, eh?”

“Something like that.”

“You and me both, Danny.”

Sighing heavily, she swept the sweat from her brow with a forearm. Then, hips-first, she pushed through the swinging doors, back into the kitchen.

Poor Charlene. Now she had both Noah
and
her brother to deal with. I didn't envy her the task.

Heading out the front door, I saw Noah engaged in what looked like a heated discussion with Skip at the bar. Meanwhile, impatient customers on either side of them were calling out drink orders. And, on the raised stage in another corner of the room, a quartet of musicians was tuning up. Loudly.

It was going to be a long, raucous night at Noah's Ark.

***

The sun's last rays had vanished as I drove toward Fox Chapel Borough, leaving an indigo tinge to the sky.

I realized that I probably should have taken Charlene up on her offer of a meal, because I was suddenly ravenous. No big mystery there, since I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten. But I didn't like the idea of joining the Harlands for dinner, assuming they'd even ask me. If for no other reason that I didn't plan on staying long.

So I pulled into a drive-through place and got a couple overcooked burgers and another cup of coffee. Just what I needed—more caffeine. Then I found an empty space in the restaurant's spacious lot and parked.

Two bites into the first burger, my cell rang.

“Danny? Sam Weiss here. Your favorite reporter.”

“Let me guess. You want an interview.”

“Sure do. And because of our long and intimate friendship, I expect it to be an exclusive. No selling your story to the
Enquirer
or Fox News.”

“Jesus, Sam, give me a little credit.”

“Just messing with you, man. But seriously, I hope I can count on an interview. This Sykes story is steamrolling, and I'm hearing a lot about how involved
you
are. I'd like to say I'm surprised, but given your weird track record with this kind of thing…”

“My involvement is probably being overblown, like it usually is. Which is why I've got to pass on the interview.”

“Come on, Danny. You've done it before, remember?”

“Yeah, and I still have mixed feelings about it. The last thing I want to do is sign up for that circus again.”

He grew silent for a moment.

“Okay, tell you what, Danny. You give me an exclusive interview, and I give you some inside dope that you might find interesting. Very inside, and very interesting. How does
that
sound, Mr. High and Mighty?”

“Sounds like bullshit, is how it sounds.”

“Then let me whet your appetite. I have a source down at the district attorney's office. Real inside guy. I happen to have something on the poor
schmuck—
you don't need to know what—so he's always happy to give me stuff. Our deal is, he gives me enough good stuff and that messy thing I got hanging over him goes away.”

“That really sucks, Sam.”

“That's journalism in the big city, Danny. Besides, this is not some nice, upright citizen. By rights, given what he's done, he oughta be in jail. But he's so well connected downtown, he's of more service to the community as a snitch for me than as an inmate. Especially since the stories I do usually end up helping to bring bad guys to justice.”

“Sounds like a rationalization to me.”

“Of course it's a rationalization. But it's one I can live with. Now do you wanna hear what I've got or not?”

I threw the remains of my meal into the trash can beside my car, then peeled the lid off the scalding black coffee.

“Okay, I'm listening. What's it about, and why would I be interested?”

“Because it's about Ray Sykes. The guy you helped bring down. My inside guy says that Sykes' lawyer approached the DA to try to make a deal.”

“A deal? No way Leland Sinclair would let Sykes take a lesser plea. Besides, what would he have to trade?”

“That's the beauty part. Sykes claims that he wasn't the one behind Donna Swanson's murder. And that neither was his trigger man, Max Griffin.”

“Then who was?”

Sam chuckled. “Like Mr. Sykes, I expect to get something for my information. That prick wants his sentence reduced, plus the death penalty taken off the table. All
I
want is for my good friend the psychologist to give me an exclusive interview.”