Business as usual.
Everyone very happy that Rabbi David Cohen was back.
“We need to get into the funeral home,” Poremba said. “Hold on. I’m going through TSA.”
TSA? “Are you coming here?” she asked after a moment.
“I land in four hours,” he said. “Go pick up Jerry Ford.”
“For what?”
“Arson,” he said. “Jaywalking. Figure it out. We need to get him off the streets before something bad happens. Get Dmitrov to say his name. That’s all you need.” He paused, lowered his voice. “Next week, I’m going to be appointed the head of the joint Organized Crime & Terrorism Task Force out of Las Vegas,” Poremba said. “His name is connected to that shit in New Jersey. I want him off the street and in an interrogation room by the time I get to Las Vegas.”
“Wait,” Kristy said, “why are you flying here now?”
“Two disgraced former FBI agents got in a gunfight,” Poremba said, “and the one thing they have in common is Sal Cupertine. They’ll backtrack Matthew to Las Vegas by morning if they haven’t already. We need to make sure we’re clean on this.”
“We. You said we.”
“I’m sorry,” Poremba said. “You were right.”
Shit.
“None of this is making sense. Tell me what happened.”
He told her what he knew, which was little more than the news reported. Matthew Drew ambushed Kirk Biglione at the Salton Sea, where Biglione was running corporate security for Gold Mountain Mining. Biglione disarmed him. Took him out.
“You knew Biglione?” Kristy said.
“Yeah.”
“He capable of that? Of disarming Matthew?”
“I don’t know. He was a top agent for a long time. It’s possible. But he’s in his fifties now.”
“You’re fifty,” Kristy said. “Could you take Matthew?”
“He’d break my fucking neck.”
“Why would Matthew Drew attack Kirk Biglione?”
“Revenge?” Poremba said. “He was ready to testify against him in his corruption trial. Biglione pled out and walked. Drew held him responsible for Hopper’s death and, by association, his sister’s.”
“Drew was qualified for assault-team work. He could have plugged Biglione from a thousand yards away. Could have blown up his car. Lee, this doesn’t add up. What did he need Kirk Biglione for? If he was out here searching for Sal Cupertine, doing the job you gave him, what could Biglione possibly have for him?”
Poremba stayed silent, thinking. In the background, Kristy heard a baby crying, an announcement for a flight to Tampa, and bits of mundane conversation as Poremba walked through the airport. Everyone going somewhere. No one aware of the world crumbling around them, all the time, every day. All of life was practical avoidance, making sure you didn’t think about all the terrible things working in the background.
“Why did you believe Matthew was framed for those murders?” Kristy asked.
“Because he had a code,” Poremba said. “He wasn’t a serial killer. He wanted Ronald Cupertine dead, and he was upset that he’d failed, but he had no reason to go after his wife and children. He was a good agent, Kristy. A good man. This case turned him inside out. He wanted Sal Cupertine to make it right for the family of those dead agents, so they’d have some sense of closure. And he wanted to avenge Hopper’s death. He wasn’t going to kill a family, bury them, dig them back up, and dump them two thousand miles away.”
“Okay,” Kristy said. “The only forensic evidence we have is that those people were killed using Drew’s gun, right? What else?”
“He stalked that whole family. We have an entire file of evidence. I wouldn’t be surprised if he stalked Biglione, too.”
“But why would he want to kill him? If he had evidence against him, wouldn’t he be better served getting him arrested?”
“That already happened. He walked,” Poremba said. “Biglione was crooked. He protected Ronnie Cupertine for years. Protected the whole Family to keep the ecosystem in balance. Kept the cartels from moving in, kept the Russians from having too much influence, took out guys who needed it. Even controlled the prisons to an extent. This wasn’t revolutionary thinking. New York and Boston operated this way for years.”
“What changed?” Kristy said.
Poremba said, “Whitey Bulger and John Gotti. Bloods and Crips. Terrorists. Twenty-four-hour news. Take your pick.”
“Wait. Go back to something. You said Ronnie Cupertine’s family had been buried and dug back up?”
“Yeah,” Poremba said. “They were covered in dirt.”
“Dirt from where?”
“Forensics narrowed it down to half of southern Illinois.”
“But they were found in Portland, Oregon?”
“Affirmative.”
“Who could possibly move a bunch of body parts across state lines with no one noticing? Or caring? Who wouldn’t be afraid to do it?”
“That’s why I want you to arrest Jerry Ford.”
