Page 109 of The Fallen Man
“What’s up?”
“I need you over at St. Anne’s.”
“On my way.”
“Room 325,” said Jackson, hanging up.
“I already talked to the cops,” said Dominique. “They said they would send someone to take my statement, but they didn’t exactly sound in hurry and I was trying to get around that stupid nurse. She was a total cockblocker. I had to rustle up someone who knows me so I could throw my weight around. I had Jamal call you when I thought I was going to have to have some sort of crazed woman fit just to get Katie proper care. I called Aiden after I talked to the cops and he’s on his way, but I didn’t know how much police involvement you wanted.”
“Sic Aiden on them,” said Jackson. “It doesn’t matter. It will take them too long to get moving.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go to Katie’s. I’m going to find out what the fuckhappened, and then I’ll find the guy who did this.”
Jamal nodded and then looked nervously between him and Dominique. “I saw Katie yesterday, and she’d been crying. Did you and Katie break up?”
“Yes,” said Jackson.
“Why?”
He looked at Dominique. How the hell was he supposed to answer that?
“Because her dad tried to kill us, so our family fucked up her dad’s life and then he committed suicide, which fucked her life,” said Dominique.
Jamal looked shocked. “That’s hard to come back from.”
“Yes, it is,” said Jackson.
Jackson
Caitlin’s Apartment
Jackson climbed the stairs to Katie’s… Caitlin’s apartment. The door had been kicked in as Jamal said. The new lock he’d gotten her had held up all right, but the hinges had given way and the ancient, cheap door had splintered. He pulled his gun and nosed his way into the living area.
The place had been trashed. A chair had been violently broken, and the refrigerator was lying on its side, the contents spilling onto the floor. But the real problem was the dead white guy sprawled across the collapsed kitchen table with an ice pick sticking out of his neck. Jackson squatted down and stared into the man’s face. He recognized the pistol whip mark and tattoo on his neck. It was the Russian who had been stalking Katie.
Holstering his gun, Jackson reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of gloves. Once he had gloved up, he gingerly lifted the Russian enough to rifle through the pockets on his jacket. He extracted the Russian’s wallet and flipped it open.
Stepan Baranov was based out of Jersey and had a business card that listed him as a Vice-President of Quickie Payday Advance. The next card in Baranov’s wallet gave Jackson pause. Dennis Houge’s card, complete with the congressional logo and DC address, looked out of place in the snakeskin wallet. He snapped a picture of both cards and the ID before returning them to the wallet and pushing it back into the jacket pocket. He tried to match the placement, but everything was sticky with blood. He guessed that Baranov had died within minutes, but it wasn’t a good way to go. Blood was everywhere, even dripping from the ceiling. Jackson stripped off one of the gloves, turning it inside out to contain contamination. Then he sent the photosof Baranov’s wallet to Pete. His phone rang almost instantly.
“I talked to Devonte,” said Pete, without preamble. “What the fuck happened? Who is this guy?”
“Baranov. I think he’s some kind of loan shark. I had a run-in with him last week. I thought he was a stalker. I thought I’d scared him off, but apparently, the message didn’t take. Pretty sure Houge and this asshole broke into Katie’s apartment and attacked her. Probably looking for Granger’s papers. And she appears to have stabbed Baranov with an ice pick.”
“Is he dead?”
“Oh, yeah. All the way dead.”
“Shit. That’s a different kind of trouble. What do you want to do?”
“I want to find Houge and rip his fucking head off,” said Jackson, trying to keep his anger from bleeding through into his voice.
“Do we know if he got Granger’s papers?” asked Pete. Always sensible.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Dominique and Jamal didn’t mention that he was carrying anything. I’ll look around here, but I want to leave before the cops show up. Find me Houge. Call in everyone. Get it done. I don’t care what favors you have to burn or cash you have to put out. Find him. Dominique said he was driving a blue sedan. She’s not great with cars, but she knows four doors when she sees them. She also ID’d Houge from his hair.”
“Good as a fingerprint for me,” said Pete without irony. “I’ll call you when I have something.”
