The Collected Part 11

CHAPTER 15.

CHICAGO.

PULLMAN WAS RIGHT about the phone number he had for Mr. Brown. Disconnected.

"A burner," Orlando said. "Probably already dumped in a landfill."

Quinn nodded. "What about this Burke guy? Is he missing, too? Because if he isn't, I would very much like to talk to him."

They stopped at the next coffee shop they spotted, and took up residence at a table near the front door as early morning commuters lined up for their shot of espresso.

Orlando first made a pa.s.s through the doc.u.ments on Pullman's computer. It didn't take her long to turn up the list of people who'd been hired for the Lopez project-each name accompanied by contact information. She turned the screen so Quinn could see. He recognized only one of the names from the ops team, but it wasn't someone he'd worked directly with before. Below the team were two more names: QUINN and BURKE.

"I say we give Mr. Burke a call," he said.

Orlando punched the number into Pullman's phone. "Ringing."

He watched her, hopeful, but it soon became clear no one was going to answer.

After disconnecting, she handed the phone to Quinn and moved Pullman's computer to the side, aiming the screen at him. "Maybe one of the others will answer," she said. She pulled her own laptop out of her bag.

Quinn went straight to the last name on the ops team list. Kelvin Moore was the team leader, so, theoretically, he'd be the one with the most information.

The line rang three times, then, "What the h.e.l.l is it now, Pullman?"

"Mr. Moore?"

A long pause. "Who is this?"

"My name's Jonathan Quinn."

"Quinn? The cleaner? Bulls.h.i.+t. You don't sound like him at all."

"The man you worked with in Mexico is a colleague of mine who also goes by the name of Quinn."

"What kind of c.r.a.p is this?"

"My friend hasn't checked in yet, and I'm trying to figure out-"

"Brother, you have called the wrong number."

Moore hung up.

Quinn called back. The line was answered and immediately disconnected. A third try received a message telling him the subscriber was out of calling range.

He tried the other names on the list. Two of the numbers played back the same out-of-range message, but the last was answered.

"Pullman?" A woman's voice.

"I'm looking for Bob Rooney," Quinn said.

"This is Bobbie."

Bobbie? Wait. "Bobbie Harbin?" he said.

Silence.

"Don't hang up. It's Jonathan Quinn."

"That name's been thrown around a bit lately."

"I know, I know. The guy who was in Mexico with you. He's my partner. Uses the same name."

"That's...weird."

"Long story."

"How do I know you're you?"

"Baton Rouge. Crawfish dinner. Cajun karaoke."

Orlando looked over for a second, one eyebrow raised.

Bobbie grunted a half laugh. "Okay, okay. Just don't go into any details. I barely remember that night, which I think is probably for the best."

"What's with the Rooney?"

"A little trouble under the old name. Thought it best to change it up. What the h.e.l.l are you calling me for? And why are you on Pullman's phone?"

Ignoring the second question, he said, "I'm hoping you might have some information."

He could sense her hesitation. "What kind of information?"

"I'm sure you heard things didn't end up going so well on the job you just finished."

"I might have run across something about that."

"Then you know the body was found."

"Yeah. I guess your partner isn't quite as good at his job as you are."

"My partner is excellent at his job," Quinn said quickly.

"Currently, there seems to be some evidence to the contrary."

Bobbie had always been one to see the world in terms of black and white, while Quinn operated in the grays. He said, "He's missing, Bobbie. He hasn't been heard from since he last talked to you all. I want to know if there was anything unusual you might have noticed."

The line was silent for a few seconds. "Nothing that comes to mind. I'm sorry your friend is missing, but-"

"What about Burke? The guy who was working with him?"

Another pause. "I only saw him twice, and neither time for very long. I did get kind of an odd vibe from him, though, like he wasn't the kind of guy I'd want to hang out with."

"Did he say anything unusual? Anything that stands out?"

"I did see him on his phone behind the motel where we were having our planning meeting once. He didn't see me at first, but when he did, he wrapped up his call pretty quickly. As he walked past, he shook his head and said, 'Family drama. What are you going to do?'"

"Was he lying?"

"Sure he was," she said. "But we all do that. I just figured he was lining up another gig, and didn't want to share the information."

"Anything else?"

"No. That's it," she said.

"Okay, thanks, Bobbie."

"Quinn."

"Yeah?"

"I am really sorry your partner's missing. If you want my guess, either the police have him and aren't talking, or he died trying to get away. Watch your step. It's probably something you don't want to get pulled into."

"Call me if something comes to mind," he said, then hung up.

"Bobbie?" Orlando asked.

"Bobbie Harbin. You remember her?"

"Hard to forget a five-foot-ten skinny blonde. What's this about crawfish and karaoke?"

"A bad night."

She gave him a skeptical half smile. "Define bad for me."

He laughed. "Not as bad as you're thinking."

With a roll of her eyes, she returned her attention to her computer. "I've located Burke's phone."

Quinn pushed out of his seat and came around so he could look over her shoulder.

She had her cell-phone-tracking software up. In one window was a map pushed in close on two intersecting roads. In the middle, a small blue circle pulsated, indicating the phone's location.

"Mexico?" Quinn asked.

"Yeah, but not Monterrey. Imuris."

"Never heard of it."

"It's in Sonora. South of Arizona. I was able to pull a twenty-four-hour history. The phone hasn't moved."

"Dumped?"

"It's an empty lot, so either that or he likes camping out."

Quinn frowned, disappointed. "He could be anywhere now."

"Or," Orlando said, "he could have gone someplace he knows well."

"And where would that be?"

"While the program was running down the phone's location, and you were still chatting with your ex-girlfriend-"

"Never was my girlfriend."

"Ex-lover, then."

"Not that, either."

"We'll just call it a one night stand."

"No we wo-"

"While you were still on the phone," she said, "I did a little digging on Burke. The guy's still new to the business. Takes whatever comes his way. It's obvious no one's taught him how to effectively cover up his information."

"And?"

"Seems our Mr. Burke is from Tucson, Arizona. Which is only about one hundred and ten miles due north of Imuris."

Quinn frowned. "He wouldn't."

"No. You wouldn't. I wouldn't. This guy, I'm not so sure."

"Who do we know in the area?" he asked.

Orlando thought for a moment. "Doesn't Kim Lakey work out of Tempe?"

__________.

QUINN AND ORLANDO flew to Phoenix, where they waited for their connection to Tucson.

As they sat near the gate, Quinn kept expecting to see someone he knew. Of course, that was ridiculous. If he had seen anyone, he probably wouldn't have even recognized the person. It had been a long time since he'd called this city home. He'd been a rookie cop then, thinking his career path was set. It wasn't, though, thanks to Durrie, his mentor. Phoenix was where their paths first crossed, Durrie both saving his life and changing its path forever.

In an attempt to distract himself, Quinn pulled out his phone and called Liz. She didn't answer. He left a message saying he and Orlando would probably be back in L.A. that evening, then he started scanning the other pa.s.sengers again.