Part 45 (1/2)
The hall led in two directions. Stacy and Cam Gidrick were coming from one of them.
”Did you see him?”
”See who?”
”Dilly. He booked, Stace. Just took off. Where were you?”
”Went to the parking lot, to check out Cam's car.”
”Okay, so he didn't go that way.”
”Car wasn't there.”
Captain Rosebart was not happy to be called away from his favourite television show at 9:23 p.m. on a Thursday night. He refused to tell Adele what show it was, but she suspected there were Kardas.h.i.+ans involved.
”Oh Lordy Jesus, Moen, what did you do now?”
”I talked to him. I told him we wanted to bring him in for questioning.”
”So why didn't you bring him in?”
”He was making a speech. We're waiting for him to finish. h.e.l.l, there was a room full of heavy political types. We were trying to keep it quiet.”
”Yeah, that worked out great.”
”What would you have done?”
”Well, for starters, I probably wouldn't have started ha.s.sling him in public.”
”We didn't have a lot of choice, Captain. Our dancer lady was on his case all day long. She wanted to rattle him.”
”Well you all did a great job. He got rattled. We've got newspapers and TV reporters up the wazoo, the G.o.dd.a.m.n political party's accusing us of s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with their election . . .”
”Tell them, better it happened now than after.”
”I don't need you to tell me how to handle those a.s.sholes.”
”Of course, sir. What do you want me to do?”
”For starters I want a huge fricking report laying out exactly how you got to the point where you spooked this guy so bad he ran off in the middle of his campaign.”
”I think you should get somebody over to that p.a.w.nshop. He may have gone after Louie's kid.”
”Yeah, yeah, all right, I'll cover that. You stay the h.e.l.l away from it. Got me?”
”Yes, Captain.”
”Do your G.o.dd.a.m.n paperwork and have it on my desk in the morning.”
”Yessir. What about the dancer?”
”What about her?”
”Should I bring her in?”
”What for? She do something?”
”No, but . . .”
”We've got enough problems without nursemaiding that crazy woman. Tell her to get her a.s.s back up to Dockerville. If we need her, let your pal Crean round her up.”
”Yessir. What about the other one, Sergei?”
”Jeezuss! It's never going to end with these frickin' Russkies, is it? Tell him to keep himself available. Tell them all to keep themselves available.”
”And Dilly's wife? His a.s.sistants?”
”Stay the h.e.l.l away from everybody. We'll handle it from here. You've caused enough G.o.dd.a.m.n wreckage for one night.”
”She's still got the ring. And the a.s.sistant was holding some package for O'Grady. Might have been a gun.”
”Christ! We're on it. Hear me? We're on it. Not you. You do some paperwork and stay the h.e.l.l out of my hair for a while! Full report. On my desk. 09:00. Got it?”
”Yes, Captain.”
After that it was a long night.
A very long night.
First on the scene were two uniformed cops Adele didn't know well and didn't like much, who didn't know what the h.e.l.l they were doing there anyway. Dylan O'Grady wasn't a fugitive, wasn't charged with anything and the only element worthy of police attention was an unsubstantiated claim by one of his a.s.sistants that he ”maybe” had a handgun in his possession, although Cam Gidrick hadn't actually seen the weapon, only inferred it from the weight and shape of the ”package” he'd been asked to keep in the campaign car. Said car was ”possibly” being driven by the missing candidate, although no one had actually seen him drive away in it.
More troubling to the campaign was the sudden swarm of reporters who smelled blood in the water and were hungry for information. Neither Adele nor Stacy had any intention of helping them out. The campaign organizers and aides weren't any more forthcoming and Cam Gidrick had been admonished by Stacy early in the proceedings to keep his mouth shut.
The cobbled together semi-official statement issued by the campaign manager was a cryptically worded paragraph suggesting that the candidate had suffered a ”sudden attack of indigestion.” This prompted many in the gathering to experience sympathetic stomach cramps. Most blamed them on the shrimp platter.
Sergei Siziva immediately demanded around-the-clock police protection. Adele told him to move to a hotel, and no, she wasn't going to pay for it. Anya told them she'd be catching the morning train back to Dockerty and would spend the night in her hotel room, and no, Sergei wasn't invited to share it, although she offered to lend him money to get a room of his own.
And after an hour of what seemed an interminable inconclusive explanation, Stacy and Adele were allowed to depart the room, leaving behind a crowd abuzz with conflicting opinions of what exactly had transpired. The only consensus seemed to be that a formerly secure federal seat was now very much in play.
Stacy decided to spend another night on Adele's couch. She not only wanted to help her friend craft the necessary report for the morning, she also had a few ideas she wanted to talk out.
”Okay, I'm just spitballing here.”
”Spit away, partner.” Adele was pulling the cork on a bottle of her favourite Spanish wine.
”Paul was a pretty good cop, right? I mean he bent the rules, but he didn't mess around.”