Blowout

Califano murdered very possibly knew about Günter and his profession.
    “This man killed twenty people in Europe in the seventies and eighties. We don’t know why he stopped.” Ben pulled two photos out of his shirt pocket. “Here’s a grainy photo, digitally enhanced—Interpol is about ninety percent sure it’s him—and here’s one that’s been aged to show how he’d probably look today, unless, of course, he’s taken pains to change his appearance, which is possible.” He handed both photos to the women and waited until each one had looked at them.
    “Does this man look familiar to any of you?”
    Juliette said, “He looks like a contractor my neighbor hired to gut her house.”
    Margaret said, “Detective Raven, if this Günter Grass hasn’t killed anyone for at least fifteen years, doesn’t that mean he made enough money to retire in style?”
    “One could assume that, yes.”
    “Then why would he kill my husband and poor Danny O’Malley?”
    “I don’t know, Mrs. Califano.”
    Bitsy St. Pierre said, “Maybe the person who hired him found out about him, blackmailed him into doing this.”
    Janette said, “That’s stupid, Bitsy. Look what he did to Danny O’Malley—killed him within twenty-four hours of a blackmail attempt.”
    “Yes,” Margaret said. “It must be something else. Maybe there’s a tie between this Günter and the person who wanted Stewart dead.”
    “It’s possible.” Ben had watched each woman study the photos, watched for any sign of recognition on their faces. He hadn’t seen any.
    “Callie,” Margaret said. “Does he look at all familiar to you?”
    “Actually,” Callie said, “I thought he looked a bit like one of our investigative reporters. No, no, just kidding.”
    Ben said, “If Günter’s not an American, chances are he came here maybe fifteen years ago. He’s physically strong, and he seems to like taking risks. Since he’s well into his fifties, maybe even sixties, I doubt he’s into any extreme sports, but he’s still very strong and fit.”
    “But if he is an American,” Anna Clifford said, “he could have lived here all his life and who would be the wiser for it?”
    “That’s true,” Callie said. “And the thing with Danny, that was a big risk, right in the middle of the morning, anyone could have seen him go into Danny’s apartment, heard him.”
    “But no one did, apparently,” said Juliette Trevor.
    Ben’s eyes swung to her. She said, “There would have been some news about that, wouldn’t there? A witness saying something, right? But there’s been nothing reported at all.”
    “You’re right. No one saw anything, and you can believe that everyone within a several block radius has been interviewed by experts.” Ben put the photos in his pocket, and finished off his last slice of pizza. He looked from one woman to the next. All of them seemed to blur together, forming one image in his mind. They seemed united, and in that moment, he had no doubt they would pull Margaret Califano through this tragedy by sheer force of will.
    He looked at his watch, saw that it was after ten o’clock. He rose, nodded to all the women. “Callie, I believe you and I are going to be having dinner with Savich and Sherlock tomorrow evening.”
    She rose to stand beside him. “Yes. I understand Savich is a great cook. Is that okay with you, Mom?” In her question she included all her mother’s friends as well.
    “Certainly,” said Janette. “We’ll all be here tomorrow night. We’re going to have a potluck dinner; our families will be here as well. We’re very pleased that you’re working with the FBI and the local police, Callie.” She patted her arm. “It also helps keep your mind occupied, doesn’t it?”
    “Actually, it helps me focus on who killed my stepfather and Danny. If it’s Günter, I want him caught as badly as all of you do. Ben, I’ll walk you out.”
    He shrugged on his black leather jacket, pulled on his black leather gloves. His hand was on the doorknob when he turned back. “My mom has only one close woman friend. This is new to me. They’re quite a unit, aren’t they?”
    “A unit—yes, that’s a good word for them. All of them are incredible women.”
    “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. Savich wants us to see Fleurette. He said four other agents have already spoken with her, but he wants us to focus on her lunch with Danny on Friday. He says his gut is dancing, and tells him