“You need to get out of the city. We’ve got too much exposure here. Take Mitch and go somewhere discreet — West Virginia, or whatever you think is best.”

“Just like that? What am I supposed to tell Mitch?” Denny said. “He’s already asking too many questions.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something to handle him. And take this.” Zachary handed over a silver Nokia phone, presumably encrypted. “Keep it off, but check it at least every six hours. And be ready to go when we tell you.”

“Just out of curiosity,” Denny said, “what’s this ‘we’ shit anyway? Do you even know who you’re working for?”

Zachary reached across and opened the door to the sidewalk for him. They were done here.

“This one’s your big payout, Denny,” he said. “Don’t blow it. Don’t make any more mistakes either.”

Chapter 84

FOR THE SECOND DAY of canvassing at homeless shelters, I did what I already should have and pulled in more of my team, including Sampson. I even called in that favor with Max Siegel, to see if he could spare any warm bodies.

Max surprised me by showing up himself, along with two eager young assistants. We split up the list and agreed to come together at the end of the day to check out mealtime and evening sign-in at one of the larger facilities.

At five o’clock that afternoon, we were all at Lindholm Family Services when they opened their doors for dinner. The shelter served more than a thousand meals a day, to a clientele that was everything you might expect, and some things you might not.

There were families with kids, and people who talked to themselves, and folks who looked like they just came from an office somewhere, all eating shoulder to shoulder at long cafeteria tables.

For the first hour or so, it was a frustrating repeat of the day before. None of the people who were willing to talk to me recognized Mitch’s picture or the old file photo I’d pulled of Steven Hennessey, aka Denny. And some people wouldn’t talk to the police at all.

One guy in particular seemed to be in his own world. He was sitting at the end of a table, turned away from everyone else, with his tray balanced on the corner. He mumbled to himself as I came over.

“Mind if I talk to you for a second?” I said.

His lips stopped moving, but he didn’t look up, so I held the picture down low where he could see it.

“We’re trying to get a message to this guy, Mitch Talley. There’s been a death in the family he needs to know about.”

This is the kind of half-truth you have to be comfortable with to get things done sometimes. We were all in street clothes today, too. Jackets and ties can be counterproductive in a place like this.