Free Leader of the Pack (Andy Carpenter) by David Rosenfelt Page A

anything to you?” I take out the list of five names that Sam had given me, and read them aloud.
    He shakes his head. “Afraid not. Who are they?”
    “They all worked on one of Solarno’s boats. Run out of Portsmouth, New Hampshire.”
    “So?”
    “So the guy they worked for was the victim of a hit-and-run about a month after you closed the company.”
    He frowns. “Sorry to hear that. What about the other five?”
    “They all had fake identities, and can’t be traced.”
    “Whoa,” he says, obviously surprised. “I don’t like the sound of that. Are you saying there were some kind of criminal activities going on? Maybe including a hit-and-run murder?”
    I nod. “It’s definitely a possibility. Maybe more than one murder.”
    He thinks about this for a few moments, shaking his head. “I said that buying that company was near the top of the list of bad decisions I’ve made. It is now the permanent champion.”
    I smile. “And we’re just getting started.”
    He sighs, apparently resigned to his inadvertent involvement in this.
    “So where is it going?”
    “I think Solarno was smuggling arms into the country, and he was doing it through that ship. And he was doing it with handpicked people, who didn’t want to be identified, and melted away when they were done.”
    “So who killed Solarno, and maybe the hit-and-run guy? Those five people?”
    “I don’t know yet. But you can bet I’ll find out.”

 
    “You ready for bed?” Laurie asks. It is a question I simply never get tired of hearing, and on the list of questions I root for every day, it ranks just above “What will you do with your lottery winnings?”
    “I’ll race you to the bedroom,” I say.
    “You think you’re going to get lucky?”
    “Hey, babe, there’s no luck involved.”
    She smiles and takes my hand, leading me toward the stairs. “We don’t need to race. We can take it slow.”
    I’m about to reply with some banter, but force myself to be quiet. The only way I can blow this is by saying something stupid, so I clench my teeth as hard as I can, to prevent my mouth from opening. Then I say, “Mmmm,” because that’s all I can manage.
    We go upstairs, and as we approach the bed, the phone rings. “Don’t get it,” I say. “People shouldn’t be calling at this hour.”
    “It’s nine-thirty,” she points out.
    “East Coast time,” I counter, seeking refuge in a non sequitur. “In France it’s four o’clock in the morning.”
    Laurie doesn’t seem moved by this logic, and she answers the phone with “Hello?”
    “Get to the point,” I say, but she’s not listening.
    Laurie engages in some more chitchat, then says, “Hold on, he’s right here.”
    She hands me the phone, and it turns out to be Cindy. “I’ve got some information for you,” she says.
    “Can I call you back in the morning?” I ask.
    “I need to make an appointment to do you a favor?”
    “I’m a high-powered attorney,” I say. “My calendar is booked solid.”
    “OK. How about a year from Thursday?”
    “Actually, I just had a cancellation. So now works.”
    “Good,” she says. “And just so we’re clear, if you reveal where you got this information, your life will have a cancellation.”
    “You’re a cold woman.”
    “It’s part of my charm. Homeland Security was investigating Richard Solarno around the time that he was killed.”
    Laurie is undressed and under the covers already, so I want to move this along, but what Cindy is saying is crucial. They didn’t cover this dilemma in law school.
    “For arms dealing?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why didn’t they intervene at Joey’s trial?”
    “Come on, Andy. Trial intervening is not their specialty, you know that. And there was nothing to indicate that the murders were related to anything they were investigating.”
    “What specifically did they think he was doing?”
    “Using at least one of his fishing boats to bring in mostly small arms, and possibly shoulder-fired