The Devils Teardrop

going to try to get away with the money from the drop on Gallows Road.”
    “Where did you find him?”
    “In a bar in Baltimore.”
    “Who was he? Havel.”
    “He’s just some loser. A bum, more or less. I promised him a hundred thousand dollars to deliver a note to City Hall and help me with the helicopter and rent the safe house. I made him think he was my partner.”
    Parker said, “And you had him walk back to the Metro or bus stop along a particular route. Where you were waiting with the van to run him down.”
    “You had to believe that the mastermind was dead. So you’d bring the money back to the evidence room . . .”
    “What about Kennedy? You sent him to the Ritz.”
    “The mayor?” Fielding asked. “That was a surprise—when he called me. And a risk. But it worked out well.” He nodded analytically. “For one thing, I had to keep you focused on the Ritz-Carlton, not the Ritzy Lady . And then my penance for the betrayal was bringing you the bone about the Digger’s name . . . You know, you really are something, Kincaid. How ’d you figure it out?”
    Parker continued, “How did I find out you were the unsub? Because of your handwriting. I had a sample—when I dictated to you from the yellow sheets Tobe saved.”
    “I was worried about that,” Fielding said. “But I couldn’t very well balk when you asked me to take notes, could I? But I tried to improvise—I tried to disguise my writing.”
    “The dot on your lowercase i gave you away.”
    Fielding nodded. “Oh, that’s right. The devil’s teardrop. I didn’t think about that . . . What did you say? That it’s always the little things.”
    “Not always. But usually.”
    Lukas asked, “The information about the Digger—you had that all along, didn’t you? You didn’t go to the library.”
    “Nope. Hell, that’s why I named Hughes the Digger. So you’d think he had some ridiculous revenge scheme against the government. But . . .” He looked around the room. “How’d you get here? ”
    “To this house?” Parker couldn’t resist. “Perfection,” he said and watched the arrogant smile slide off the killer’s face. He continued. “To escape after the perfect crime you’d want the perfect passports. You’d find the best forger in the business. He happens to be a friend of mine. Well, let’s just say we’re close; I put him in prison once.”
    For a moment Fielding was flustered. “But he didn’t know my real name or address.”
    “No, but you called him,” Parker countered.
    “Not from here,” Fielding said, argumentative, whiny.
    Lukas too wanted part of deconstructing the man. “From the phone booth up the street.” She nodded toward the corner. “We ran the pen register numbers through Bell Atlantic security.” Then she held up a computer picture of Fielding. “We lifted it from the tape in the FBI headquarters security camera. Just showed it to a half-dozen people in the neighborhood tonight and got a beeline to your front door.”
    “Shit.” He closed his eyes.
    The little things . . .
    Parker said, “There’s this saying among forgers that the expression ‘You can’t think of everything’ doesn’t count. You have to think of everything.”
    Fielding said, “I knew you were the strong link, Parker. The biggest risk. I should’ve had the Digger take care of you right up front.”
    Cage asked, “You didn’t have any problem sacrificing your friend?”
    “The Digger? Wouldn’t exactly call him a friend.” Fielding added, “He was a dangerous person to keep alive. Anyway, you may’ve guessed, this was going to be my last job. I didn’t need him anymore.”
    An agent walked into the doorway. “Okay, Fielding. Your ride’s here.”
    They started to lead him off. He paused at the doorway. Turned back.
    “Admit it, Parker, I’m good,” he said churlishly. “After all, I nearly did it.”
    Parker shook his head. “Either an answer to a puzzle’s right or it’s wrong. There’s no ‘nearly’ about it.”
    But when he was led out of the door Fielding was smiling.

35
    The workmen were lashing the burnt bus to a flatbed.
    The medical examiner had carted off the Digger’s body, in whose hands was fused, horribly, a scorched black machine gun.
    Edward Fielding sat in federal detention, legs shackled and wrists cuffed.
    As Parker said goodnight to Cage, looking around for Margaret Lukas, he noticed Mayor Gerald Kennedy start toward them. He’d been here, with a