“You’ve been under surveillance,” Bolton said.

“Excuse me?”

Devin shrugged. “This is bigger than you, Patrick. A lot bigger.”

“How long?” I said.

“How long what?”

“Have I been watched?” I looked at Bolton.

“Since Alec Hardiman refused our request to speak with him,” Devin said.

“So?”

“When he refused our request,” Oscar said, “he did it by saying you’re the only one he’ll talk to.”

“Me?”

“You, Patrick. Only you.”

17

“Why’s Alec Hardiman want to talk to me?”

“Good question,” Bolton said. He waved at the smoke coming from Devin’s cigarette. “Mr. Kenzie, everything said from this point on is absolutely confidential. Understood?”

Angie and I gave Bolton our best shrugs.

“Just so we’re clear—if you repeat anything we speak of today, you’ll be charged with Federal obstruction charges carrying a maximum penalty of ten years.”

“You enjoy saying that, don’t you?” Angie said.

“What’s that?”

She deepened her voice. “’Federal obstruction charges.’”

He sighed. “Mr. Kenzie, when Kara Rider was murdered, she had your card in her hand. Her crucifixion, as you probably know, bore remarkable similarities to the crucifixion of a boy in this neighborhood in 1974. Sergeant Amronklin, you might not know, was a patrolman back then who worked with former Detective Sergeant Glynn and Inspector Hardiman.”

I looked at Devin. “Did you think Kara’s murder might have been connected to Cal’s the night we saw her body?”

“I considered the possibility.”

“But you didn’t say anything to me.”

“Nope.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “You’re a private citizen, Patrick. It’s not my job to let you in. Besides, I thought it was a hell of a long shot. Just something I kept in the back of my mind.”

The phone on the bar rang and Gerry picked it up, his eyes on us. “Black Emerald.” He nodded as if he’d expected the caller’s question. “Sorry, no. We’re all closed up here. Plumbing problem.” He closed his eyes for a moment, nodded hurriedly. “You’re so desperate for a drink, try another bar. You better get going.” He looked about to hang up. “What’d I tell you? Closed. I’m sorry, too.”

He hung up, gave us a shrug.

“This other victim,” I said.

“Stimovich.”

“Right. Was he crucified?”

“No,” Bolton said.

“How’d he die?”

Bolton looked at Devin and Devin looked at Oscar and Oscar said, “Who gives a shit? Tell them. We need all the help we can get before we have more bodies on our hands.”

Bolton said, “Mr. Stimovich was tied to a wall, his skin removed in strips, and then he was disembowled while he was still alive.”

“Jesus,” Angie said and blessed herself so quickly I’m not even sure she was aware she did it.

Gerry’s phone rang again.

Bolton frowned. “Can you yank that out of the hook for a little while, Mr. Glynn?”

Gerry looked pained. “Agent Bolton, with all due respect to the dead, I’ll keep my place closed as long as you feel you need it, but I got regulars wondering why my door’s closed.”