HOLIDAY AND COOK TAILED Grady Dunne back down into the District after he left the hotel bar. This time Holiday was on point. They speculated via radio as to Dunne’s destination. He was taking his time moving through the city. He had made his way to Kenilworth Avenue, and then Minnesota, into Southeast.
“He’s headed out of town,” said Holiday, as Dunne got off Minnesota Avenue and hit East Capitol toward the Maryland line.
East Capitol became Central Avenue far inside the Beltway in Prince George’s County. They were on the border of Seat Pleasant and Capitol Heights. They passed new developments, older homes, strip malls, young men walking down the road. It was less a suburb than an extension of Southeast, D.C.
Holiday eased the gas and faded back. Then he saw Dunne’s turn signal and watched as he made a left into a gas-and-convenience mart up ahead.
“Holy shit,” said Holiday into the radio.
“What’s going on?”
“Get in your right lane and follow me into the lot of that strip mall.”
As Cook got closer, he saw the convenience market, and Dunne’s Explorer stopping at a pump.
“Goddamn right,” said Cook. “That’s where Reginald Wilson works.”
“Hurry up and pull over.”
Cook drove into the lot of the run-down strip mall. He pulled into a space alongside Holiday, facing Central Avenue. Holiday got out of the Town Car with binoculars in hand and slid into the Marquis beside Cook. Cook was sweating and his eyes were bright.
“I knew it,” said Cook.
“We don’t know anything yet,” said Holiday, looking through the glasses as Dunne pumped gas into the Ford.
“Wilson’s in there,” said Cook. “There’s his Buick, parked beside the market.”
“Okay, he’s in there. That doesn’t mean the two of them are connected. For all we know, Dunne just stopped to get some gas.”
“So, what, we’re gonna do nothing?”
“No.” Holiday lowered the binoculars and put them on the seat next to Cook. “Take these. Keep your eyes on the market.”
“Where you going?”
“I’m gonna stay on Dunne. Figure out a way to talk to him. He’ll be off guard.… It’s the best time.”
“And I’m supposed to, what, sit here on my behind?”
“Make sure Wilson doesn’t go anywhere,” said Holiday, who didn’t want Cook slowing him down. “If he does, tail him.”
“Stay in radio contact?”
“If I brace Dunne, I’m turning my walkie off. I don’t want him to know I’m working with anyone. I’ll report back to you when I’m done.”
“All right.”
Holiday looked at Cook, his shirt damp with sweat. “Why don’t you take that jacket off, Sarge?”
“I’m working, young man.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Doc?” Cook extended his hand, and Holiday gripped it. “Thank you.”
“Forget it,” said Holiday. He left the Marquis and got into his Lincoln. He drove to the strip mall’s exit and let the Town Car idle.
Dunne had entered the market. A few minutes later, he emerged from its front door, talking on his cell as he headed for his Ford. Cook watched him pull out of the lot, and he watched as Holiday waited patiently and fell in behind him on Central Avenue. Then both of them were gone.
Cook leaned his arm on the lip of the driver’s-side window and put the binoculars to his eyes. He lowered them and stared at the Buick in the lot. He knew that Holiday had not told the truth about Ramone’s progress. Ramone had broken through on the Johnson case, most likely. Now Holiday was pursuing Grady Dunne alone because he felt that he, Cook, was an old man. Too old to police. Baggage on a tail. Cook wasn’t going to sit here and watch a parked car. Reginald Wilson wasn’t going anywhere. He sure wasn’t going home anytime soon. That’s why Cook needed to get hisself over to Wilson’s house. Make something happen now, show these younger men that he still had game.
Cook turned off his walkie and cell. He didn’t want to talk to Holiday or anyone else. He’d had his fill of technology for one day. He ignitioned the Marquis and drove out of the lot.
Out on Central Avenue, Holiday kept four cars back from Dunne. Dunne stayed in his right lane and kept the SUV to ten miles over the speed limit. Holiday could see that he was still on the phone. He was preoccupied with the cell, an easy tail, and Holiday was confident that he would remain undetected until Dunne reached his destination. But Holiday had already decided that he would not let Dunne get that far.
He accelerated, even as Dunne slowed to observe a red light ahead. Holiday pulled up beside him in the left lane, stopped, and rolled down his passenger window. He gave his horn a short punch.
Dunne, his window open, looked over with expressionless eyes. “What?”
“Your right rear tire’s about to go flat,” said Holiday. “Just lettin you know.”
Dunne did not thank him for the information. He said something into the mic of his cell phone, ended the call, and dropped the unit on the bucket to his right.
At the green, Dunne took off and soon pulled over to the side of the road, where a crab shack had been set up near a widened shoulder. Holiday followed and parked his Town Car behind Dunne’s SUV. He turned off his radio and cell. Dunne was already out of his vehicle, checking his tire. Holiday exited the Lincoln and walked toward him. He reached for his wallet, and when Dunne glanced over and saw this, he instinctively touched the gun holstered at the small of his back.
He did not pull it. Instead, he stood and spread his feet. He was thin and taller than Holiday by a couple of inches. His blond hair was cropped short, and his eyes were a very light blue.
“Hey,” said Holiday, his open wallet in hand. “No worries. I just want to show you my ID.”
“Why?”
“Let me explain —”
“This tire’s fine,” said Dunne. “Why’d you tell me it was flat?”
“Name’s Dan Holiday.” He flashed Dunne his driver’s license and made sure he saw the old FOP card fitted beside it. “MPD, retired. You’re police, too, right?”
Dunne looked over at the Hispanic man working the crab shack, taking an order from a man through a drop-window set in a trailer. He returned his attention to Holiday.
“What do you want?”
“Oglethorpe Street, Northeast. The community garden. I was there after midnight, the early hours of Wednesday. I saw you with someone in the back of your patrol car.”
Dunne’s eyes registered recognition. “And?”
“You must know that a boy’s body was found in that garden later that morning.”
“What’d you do, follow me here?”
“That’s right. I followed you.”
Dunne’s lip curled up into something like a smile. “The drunken chauffeur, sleeping one off. I remember you.”
“And I you.”
“What is this, a shakedown? Because I’ll go to my superiors and tell them I was there before I give you a fuckin cent. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“I don’t want money.”
“Then what’s your malfunction?”
“A kid was killed. I’m looking for answers.”
“What are you, one of those jagoffs, listens to the scanner all day?”
“Did you know about the boy when you were there that night?”
Dunne shook his head slowly. “No. I found out the next day.”
“Why didn’t you come forward when he was found?”
“What for?”
“ ’Cause you’re police.”
“I just told you; I wasn’t aware of it at the time. So I had no information to contribute to the case.”
“If you saw me parked there,” said Holiday, “and you read me as drunk, why didn’t you stop and roust me?”
“I was busy.”
“What were you doing on a dead-end street with a passenger in your vehicle?”
“Who are you?”
“A concerned citizen.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“What were you doing on that street?”
“Bustin my load into some whore’s mouth. You happy?”
“You’re no cop,” said Holiday with naked disgust.
Dunne laughed and stepped close to Holiday. Holiday detected the sad and familiar smell of breath mint over vodka coming off of Dunne.
“Anything else?” said Dunne.
“Do you know a Reginald Wilson?”
Holiday looked into Dunne’s eyes. There was nothing there, no recognition at all.
“Who?”
“The gas-and-go you just came from. Do you know the man working behind the counter?”
“Listen, asshole. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I pulled into a station at random and bought some gas.”
“What did the clerk look like?”
“Some kind of sand nigger, I guess. Who else works in those places? I didn’t even notice him.”
Holiday believed him. He felt his energy drain out.
“You’re gonna be called in and questioned for Oglethorpe Street,” said Holiday.
“So?”
“I’ll see you around.”
Dunne jabbed a finger into Holiday’s chest. “You’re seein me now.”
Holiday didn’t respond.
Dunne smiled through clenched teeth. “You wanna try me?”
Holiday kept his hands at his side.
“I didn’t think so,” said Dunne.
Dunne walked back to his Ford, got under the wheel, and drove away. Holiday stared at the Explorer’s taillights until they faded from view. Then he went to his Town Car and drove back toward the gas station.
Dunne was a rotten apple. But he hadn’t been involved with Asa Johnson and he didn’t know Reginald Wilson.
It was over. He needed to tell the old man.