Horns of the Devil - Jeff Trask [02] by Marc Rainer Page B

wanted to make sure I had my best team on this. They don’t want an international gang war breaking out in our capital city.”
    “Do you have any suggestions other than what we’re already doing, Ross?” Patrick asked. The question was an honest one, not a suck-up. There was no deception in Bill Patrick, a great walrus of a man well over both six feet and three hundred pounds with a large moustache that curled down around the corners of his mouth. He had moved into the criminal division chief ’s office when Robert Lassiter died.
    “No, I don’t,” Eastman responded quickly. “I do think we have our best people on it, both from our office and the Bureau. I just have a bad feeling about this.”
    “If it’s any consolation—and I know it’s not—so do we, Ross.” Doroz was standing and pacing about the room as if it were his own office. “Dix Carter is convinced that the car wash double homicide was just meant to look like a gang drive-by, with the purpose of starting a local firefight between the MS-13 and M-18 cliques.”
    “I hear that Detective Carter has been a bit off the reservation lately.”
    Damn. I thought we had a lid on that, Trask thought . Ross has his own sources watching us.
    “A bit.” Doroz knew not to try to minimize the problem, which was now exposed. “I think we’ve addressed that, and he’s still the best detective the Metro Police can give us. You did say that’s what you wanted?”
    “Of course, and I know he’s a fine detective,” Eastman retreated. “Just as long as you think he’s still contributing to the investigation.”
    “He’s contributing a lot,” Doroz said. “Despite the personal problems, he sees things the rest of us miss. His instincts are still flawless.”
    “I hope so. If this thing gets out of control, gentlemen, people with agendas that have nothing to do with justice or law enforcement are going to start playing in our little sandbox, and I’ll have no shot at controlling things at that point. Each and every problem with the case will be viewed through the political microscopes, fair or not.”
    “We know that, too, Ross,” Doroz responded, “and the last thing I want is my own headquarters breathing down the back of my neck while we try to get some real work done.”
    “Then we’re all on the same page,” Eastman said. “Bill, this is Jeff ’s only priority for now. I want you to reassign every other case on his calendar to somebody else. Give him whatever extra bodies he needs.”
    “Understood,” Patrick said.
    “Can I pass on the extra bodies for now?” Trask asked.
    Eastman looked surprised. “Why is that?”
    “Too many cooks in the kitchen, for one thing,” Trask replied, “and like you said, it will probably come to more if this gets worse. Right now, Ross, this is an investigation, not a prosecution, except for my five new friends and their assault rifles. That’s an easy case and won’t require any legal genius. I think we need to minimize the possibility of any leaks right now, and frankly, I’d like to know how you found out about our problems with Dixon Carter.”
    “A point well taken.” Eastman smiled. “My info comes from Willie Sivella. I had lunch with him yesterday.”
    “That’s reassuring then, I think,” Trask said. “Anyway, I promise to come running for help if I think I’m getting over my head.”
    “Good. Then go fix this thing. I know we’re in a reactive business, but if you guys have ever had luck with crystal balls, now’s the time to pull them out. I need to convince the freaking White House that we’re on top of this.”
    The intercom on Eastman’s phone buzzed. “Yes?”
    “It’s the Attorney General for you, Mr. Eastman.”
    “See?” Eastman said. He waved them out as he reached for the phone.

    August 19
    It was 2:27 a.m. in the house at the end of Amwich Court in the Saint Charles neighborhood of Waldorf, Maryland. Trask stared at the ceiling, unable to stop his mind from