Free Keeper by Greg Rucka Page B

while Scott talked to Dr. Romero.
    The phone was answered on the second ring.
    “Hello?” The soft voice held just the slightest southern accent.
    “This is Atticus Kodiak calling for Veronica Selby,” I said.
    “Speaking.”
    “I’m in charge of security for Dr. Felice Romero, Ms. Selby. I was wondering if I could come and speak with you?”
    “Is Felice all right?”
    “She’s doing well enough.”
    “When did you have in mind, Mr. Kodiak?”
    “I was thinking in about half an hour,” I said.
    “Oh,” Selby said. “Well . . . yes, that would be fine. I’ll expect you shortly, then.” She told me her address and I copied it down on a sheet of paper. “Please give Felice and Katie my regards,” she said.
    “I’ll do that.”
    Fowler had bagged the letter and the envelope, though we all knew there wouldn’t be any prints. The serious threats always came back from the lab clean. I asked him if he could give me a ride up to Selby’s place on Park Avenue, and he said he’d be glad to.
    “She told me to send her regards,” I said to Dr. Romero.
    Romero managed a crooked smile.
    “I’ll get back to you later tonight,” I told her. “You can reach me by pager or at home. Don’t hesitate to call.”
    “I won’t,” she said.
    Katie gave me another hug before I left, saying, “Come back, okay, ’Cus? Come back soon.”
     
    Fowler drove well, very legally. Once we were rolling he said, “You’re going to hate this but Barry is out. The charges were dismissed.”
    “What?” I asked. “How the fuck did that happen?”
    “Dude, I know. Looks like NYPD blew the paperwork. Barry claims that he didn’t understand his Miranda. I think maybe one of the cops on the desk is sympathetic to the cause.”
    “He’s been arrested enough, he fucking knows his Miranda by heart,” I said.
    “He didn’t even say anything in interview to take to trial. But he’s out, and I’m sorry, man. I thought you should know.”
    “I can’t believe this,” I said.
    “It gets worse. He’s running with another guy, too, Sean Rich, who came to pick him up. Both are apparently tight with Crowell.”
    “How is that worse?”
    “Rich has a record,” Fowler said. “In Florida. Pensacola.”
    Pensacola, the town with two dead doctors who performed abortions to its name. “Jesus.”
    “Yeah.”
    I didn’t speak for a few moments, fuming. It had been a righteous collar, and Barry was out anyway. And now it sounded like there was a ringer up from the land of the faux-Christian Nazis. All of that plus the throwing of the bottle; it hadn’t been thrown at Romero, it had been thrown at us, to see how we would react.
    “Do you think they’re really going to go after her?” Fowler asked.
    “She’s high profile, she’s a woman, she’s a minority. She’s the perfect target. They’ll go for her at that conference. Wouldn’t you? They know exactly where she’ll be, when she’ll be, and if she goes down in front of the crowd—you can’t buy that kind of publicity. Barry is SOS, we both know that. Crowell’s up to something.”
    “Don’t let her attend, man,” Fowler said.
    “If I don’t like the security, I won’t, believe me, Scott,” I said.
    He made a careful turn onto Park. “I don’t think Crowell will do it. I don’t like conspiracies.” He pulled up outside Selby’s apartment building. “Don’t like conspiracies, and I don’t like conspiracy theories at all, man. They’re too easy. You’re looking for a nut with a gun, not the Illuminati.”
    “I’ll take a conspiracy over a nut with a gun any day,” I told him, unbuckling my seat belt. “At least, with a conspiracy, you know where you stand.”
    He was still laughing when I got out of the car.

Selby’s apartment building had the feel of New York when it was still the classiest, most cultured city on earth. Whether or not it is now is subject to debate, but then again, whether it ever was is probably subject to the same debate. The