More Twisted

“Jesus.”
    “You thought it was the Anco money?”
    Carnegie looked at the computer terminals around them, cursors blinking passively.
    Goddamn Big Brother . . . . The best surveillance money can buy. And look what had happened.
    The detective’s voice cracked with emotion as he said, “You followed my son! You hired the painters so you could get away without being seen, you bought the bullets, the tools . . . . And what the hell were you doing looking at burglar alarm websites?”
    “Comparative shopping,” Muller answered reasonably. “I’m buying an alarm system for the house.”
    “This is all a setup! You—”
    The businessman silenced him by glancing at Carnegie’s fellow officers, who were looking at their boss with mixed expressions of concern and distaste over his paranoid ranting. Muller nodded toward Carnegie’s office. “How ’bout you and I go in there? Have a chat.”
    Inside, Muller swung the door shut and turned to face the glowering detective. “Here’s the situation, Detective. I’m the only prosecuting witness in the larceny and auto theft case against your son. That’s a felony and if I decide to press charges he’ll do some serious time, particularly since I suspect you found him in the company of some not-so-savory friends when he was busted. Then there’s also the little matter of Dad’s career trajectory after his son’s arrest hits the papers.”
    “You want a deal?”
    “Yeah, I want a deal. I’m sick of this delusion crap of yours, Carnegie. I’m a legitimate businessman. I didn’t steal the Anco payroll. I’m not a thief and never have been.”
    He eyed the detective carefully then reached into his pocket and handed Carnegie a slip of paper.
    “What’s this?”
    “The number of a Coastal Air flight six months ago—the afternoon of the Anco robbery.”
    “How’d you get this?”
    “My companies do some business with the airlines. I pulled some strings and the head of security at Coastal got me that number. One of the passengers in first class on that flight paid cash for a one-way ticket from John Wayne Airport to Chicago four hours after the Anco robbery. He had no checked baggage. Only carry-on. They wouldn’t give me the passenger’s name but that shouldn’t be too tough for a hardworking cop like you to track down.”
    Carnegie stared at the paper. “The guy from the Department of Public Works? The one the witness saw with that suitcase near Anco?”
    “Maybe it’s a coincidence, Detective. But I know I didn’t steal the money. Maybe he did.”
    The paper disappeared into Carnegie’s pocket. “What do you want?”
    “Drop me as a suspect. Cut out all the surveillance. I want my life back. And I want a letter signed by you stating that the evidence proves I’m not guilty.”
    “That won’t mean anything in court.”
    “But it’ll look pretty bad if anybody decides to come after me again.”
    “Bad for my job, you mean.”
    “That’s exactly what I mean.”
    After a moment Carnegie muttered, “How long’ve you been planning this out?”
    Muller said nothing. But he reflected: Not that long, actually. He’d started thinking about it just after the two cops had interrupted his nap the other day.
    He’d wire-transferred some money to one of his banks in France from an investment account to fuel the cops’ belief that he was getting ready to flee the country (the French accounts were completely legit; only a fool would hide loot in Europe).
    Then he’d done some surveillance of his own, low-tech though it was. He’d pulled on overalls, glasses and a hat and snuck into police headquarters, armed with a watering can and clippers to tend to the plants he’d noticed inside the station the first time he was arrested. He’d spent a half hour on his knees, his head down, clipping and watering, in the hallway outside the watch room, where he’d learned the extent of the police’s electronic invasion of his life. He’d heard too the exchange between Billy Carnegie and the detective—a classic example of an uninvolved father and a troubled, angry son.
    Muller smiled to himself now, recalling that after the meeting Carnegie had been so focused on the case that, when he nearly tripped over Muller in the corridor, the cop had never noticed who the gardener was.
    He’d then followed Billy for a few hours until he caught him palming the watch. Then he tricked the boy into helping him. He’d hired the painters to do some interior