Page 69 of Delusional

There was a pause. Then Heitz said, “Understand that I am not offering you legal advice here. But in my non-legal opinion, I would deal with this cop quickly. Throw off the investigation. Something that would also look good for your cause.”

Owens noted the dismissive way the lawyer had said “cause.”

Ellis thought for a moment, then said, “How quickly do you think we need to deal with him?”

“Soon. Like, this week. His name is Michael Bennett. He’s a detective in the Manhattan North Homicide unit on the Upper West Side. It’s not a precinct. The unit’s in a private building that rents space. That might be a spot where you could find a chance to do something. It’s not terribly high-security.”

Heitz wrapped up the call without saying anything more about Pry’s case or whether he could get him off the charges or anything else.

When they’d hung up, Ellis turned to Owens. “Can you make something on short notice to deal with this detective?”

“I can modify a device I already have. It would only take a couple of hours. Then we can set it on his car.”

“How will we know which is his car?” Kimmy asked.

Owens smiled. “I’ll hack into the NYPD database and see what kind of car is assigned to him. I’ll also poke around while I’m in there and do some background research so we’ll know more about what we’re up against.”

Ellis nodded. “Let’s take care of this Bennett character quickly. Why wait?”

CHAPTER 84

I WAS BEYOND beat. Even my reserves were gone. That’s why when I heard the theme to the TV show Green Acres, I hoped I was dreaming. But I wasn’t.

It didn’t matter if it was ten o’clock or three in the morning—I was out of it. But when I opened my eyes, I realized it probably wasn’t too late, because I saw that Mary Catherine was still awake, reading a Michael Connelly novel.

As I glanced at my phone, I noticed that the screen said No Caller ID. My gut said it was someone calling from a federal agency. Or blocking their number. When I answered the phone with a raspy “Hello,” my suspicions were confirmed.

A deep, male voice said, “Detective Bennett? Leland Ackerley, FBI in Bozeman, Montana. We met yesterday.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember you. You’re the sane agent.” I’ll admit I appreciated the chuckle that earned me from the other end of the line.

“I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Someone once told me to never admit if you were asleep. So I’m going to say no, it’s fine, I’m awake.” Then I added, “Now.”

I could hear the smile in Ackerley’s voice as he said, “I was just being polite. You left Montana awfully fast.”

“Wouldn’t you if you could?”

“I’m from Dallas originally. I prefer the cooler weather here.”

“I’m glad you woke me up to tell me how happy you are to live in Bozeman.”

Mary Catherine raised an eyebrow at the attitude I was giving the unknown person on the other end of the line. I scaled my sarcasm back.

“Oh, so you admit you were sleeping,” Ackerley said. Without waiting for a reply, he continued: “Actually, I don’t care if I woke you up. This is important.”

That made me physically sit up in bed. “I’m listening.”

“I heard from a couple of people inside the Bureau who think that Arnold Marks—real name, as we discussed, Arjan Marku—may be either headed to or already in New York City.”

“Really? Why would Marku come here? Because I spoiled his business plans?”

“Why not?”

“What kind of gangster gets so hung up on a real-estate deal that he’d chase a cop halfway across the country?”

“You’re being modest. You humiliated him. You cost him money. And you rubbed it in his face,” Ackerley said. “Look, I’m just giving you a heads-up. Agent Hadley’s told me a few stories about how he hasn’t gone after Marku because the guy’s given him a couple of Russian spies.”