Betrayal by John Lescroart Page B

me,” he said.
    “Three street thugs, all with sheets. All of ’em young, strong, and armed, out for a good time on Saturday night in the Tenderloin. All of ’em killed by hand. Maybe they just decided to mug the wrong guy, the same guy who killed Zwick, but that’s a stretch, don’t you think?”
    “The stretch is why he would have stayed around,” Glitsky said, “if he’s one of the Allstrong people.”
    “There aren’t any Allstrong people, though,” Debra said. “The whole staff is over in Iraq. They’ve got a woman manager over here in a tiny office by Candlestick and a couple of clerks. None of ’em had ever met Zwick personally. And I believe them.”
    “On the other hand,” Lanier interjected, “maybe we got a bona fide wacko who’s getting off on killing people with his hands. These Tenderloin meatballs, we got two broken necks and a septum jabbed up into the brain. But there’s no connection we can come up with between Zwick and these dirtbags. None of the victims had anything stolen off them.”
    Glitsky scratched at his cheek. “How many broken-neck murders have you seen in the past twenty years, Marcel?”
    The lieutenant nodded. “I know what you’re saying, Abe. And every one of the very few was in the course of some kind of a fight. These guys, there was hardly a sign of a struggle. The problem is that we got reporters already onto the story—I got a call at home this morning, and so did Frank—and they’re salivating over this serial killer possibility.”
    Glitsky chewed the inside of his cheek for a minute. “And Allstrong hires Navy SEALs and guys like that for their security work over in Iraq?”
    “That’s what I gather,” Debra said. “They’ve got nice brochures, but really, as I said, no people.”
    “But let’s not lose sight of the main question,” Lanier said. “We don’t want to spin this toward a serial killer loose in the city. Frank would have my balls. Excuse me, Debra.”
    But Glitsky was standing up. “I’m doing my very favorite Monday-morning press briefing in fifteen, Marcel. I’ll put that fire out at least until we get another broken neck.”
    “What are you going to tell ’em?” Lanier asked.
    “I’ll say I can’t comment on ongoing investigations, except to say that it would be irresponsible to print or run rumors of a serial killer when there is no evidence to support it. And none of these victims are high profile. We got three dead brothers in the hood and one dead unemployed white guy in the Mish. This stuff is unfortunate but it happens. And the story goes away.”
    “Even if this guy’s the same guy,” Bracco said, “who did all of them?”
    “If it was,” Glitsky said, “I’ve got to believe he’s long gone by now and never coming back.”

[7]
     
    M AJOR C HARLES T UCKER, the Senior Auditor for Aviation Issues, didn’t like to leave the Green Zone any more than anyone else did. But in the past ten days, since Ron Nolan had shown up downstairs at the Republican Palace with his $2 million requisition, he had signed off on another $3.3 million in cash to Allstrong Security—all of it approved by Airbase Security Services Coordinator Colonel Kevin Ramsdale.
    Jack Allstrong himself had shown up at his desk four times, patiently explaining to Tucker that obviously, if he continued to question the need for money, he was unaware of the sheer vastness of the task that Allstrong Security had contracted to undertake. The airport itself, BIAP, was enormous—thirty-two thousand acres. Securing even half of all that land alone in a hostile country was a monumental job. Besides that, Allstrong needed immediate money to buy the cars and trucks that would deliver the new dinar cash all over the country on his latest contract. He also needed more money for the bomb-sniffing dogs, for his enormous payroll, for food for his constantly growing influx of employees.
    In spite of the danger inherent in every trip outside of the Green Zone,