Page 58 of Delusional

Both were around forty. One was a tall Black man with glasses and the other was a much more squat man with short hair that looked like it used to be a crew cut. The Black man was dressed in a suit and heavy jacket, and the squat man looked to be wearing casual pants and God knows what under his thick winter coat.

When Rob opened the door, the two men identified themselves as FBI agents and asked to speak to me and Rob specifically. Mona was her usual gracious self as she ushered them into the dining room and set them up with coffee.

We sat down and gave them a little background information. The Black man was named Leland Ackerley, and he was assigned to the Bozeman field office, which was part of the Salt Lake City division.

I looked at the other man, whose name was Brian Hadley, and said, “I’m going to take a wild guess and say that you’re from the Los Angeles field office.”

Hadley smiled. “And how’d you come to that conclusion?”

“Because this isn’t a federal crime, but the man who committed it, Arjan Marku, a.k.a. Arnold Marks, has worked with the Bureau in the past. Now you’re here to try and get him off the hook one more time. Tell me I’m wrong.”

The long silence and exchange of looks between the two men told me everything I needed to know.

Hadley said, “You want to tell me who leaked that information to you?”

“No leak. Just common sense. I’m aware that Marks is a suspect in more than one murder in Los Angeles, but no one has investigated him. Any cop with experience can figure out that there’s someone protecting him.”

Hadley said, “Can we speak frankly without any of this ever leaving the room?”

Rob said, “We won’t tell anyone. The NYPD is not known for its leaks.”

“Unlike the FBI,” I added.

“Do you want to talk seriously or do you want to insult us a little more?”

I said, “I don’t see how both things are mutually exclusive.” I was pretty pleased with that retort, though it didn’t get nearly the response I’d been hoping for. Although Agent Ackerley didn’t do a very good job of hiding the smile that spread across his face.

Hadley sighed. “I know it feels like you’ve been through a lot. But Arnold Marks has provided us with information about Russia and Eastern Europe that virtually no one else ever has.”

“So that means he should be able to do anything he wants? He started a fire yesterday that killed a woman.”

“I’m not sure exactly what went on here—or about any fire. From what I’ve gathered from the state police, the only people wounded tonight were the intruders. No one in this house was hurt. Is that correct? I mean, it sounds like this could be chalked up to a serious business disagreement. Maybe Mr. Marks was being a little too passive-aggressive.”

I all but screamed, “Passive-aggressive?! You mean aggressive-aggressive. He intended to murder us.”

“I don’t think anyone can predict what someone intended to do. We don’t even know exactly what happened yet.”

I looked over at Rob, whose face was turning red with anger. I politely scooted back my chair and said, “This conversation is over.”

Hadley tried to say something else. Even the local agent, Ackerley, was trying to get him to shut up.

I held up my hand. “I’m sorry, Special Agent Hadley, but you’ve forced me to exceed my daily limit on dealing with morons. Of course Arnold Marks was trying to murder us. He was furious about the refusal to sell the car lot. A woman died in a fire he started at that same car lot. You can try to justify his information and his cooperation. It’s wrong on every level.”

The agents left, but it was more than three hours before I felt my blood pressure return to normal.

CHAPTER 71

TOM OWENS PURPOSELY sat at the far end of the couch, hoping the only person to sit next to him would be Kimmy. Ellis Warrenton had called this meeting. Owens knew it had to do with their argument the night before about what sort of target they were going to hit next.

Ellis stood in the area between the kitchen and the living room. It didn’t look like he intended to sit down. It would be bad for his image. He had to lead. At least that was Owens’s impression. Ellis was dressed in a cotton button-down shirt and a pair of jeans. He always looked put together but comfortable, no matter the situation.

Kimmy grabbed a small bottle of orange juice and shuffled into the living room, flopping down on the couch next to Owens, which made him sigh with relief.

Then the front door opened and Pry’s familiar, heavy footfalls came down the entryway. When he appeared around the corner, Owens had to do a double take. Pry looked terrible. His hair was a shambles. His eyes were bloodshot and bleary. His jacket had a giant stain that looked fresh. He stank of cigar smoke. And he wore the leather gloves Owens had noticed he tended to favor, especially on his hand with the missing fingers. Pry walked immediately to the couch and sat down next to Kimmy, casually throwing an arm across her shoulders.

Ellis looked at Pry and said, “Rough night, brother?”

Pry’s voice was hoarse. “Usual. Little colder than I expected. The space heater worked overtime in my storage unit.”