LITMIR.BIZ

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kid thought the men were Santa’s helpers.”

      “Did these so-called elves spot Jake?”

      “Yes. They slammed the door in his face. Then the bomb went off.”

      “I take it the police tried to find the bag men?”

      “They interviewed employees and club members. If anybody knows who they are, they’re not saying.”

      “Which leads us back to the Mercados. Do you think the bag men belong to the mob?”

      “It’s possible. What if those bags were stuffed with money? Or drugs? That would point to illegal activity going on at the Lone Star. Maybe someone on the inside stopped cooperating in that activity, and the mob planted the bomb to either kill them or scare the hell out of them.”

      “Hearing that makes me wonder about trusting anyone who works there.”

      “That thought has crossed my mind several times.” Spence rose, walked to the fireplace and stared into its dark mouth. “The guys with bags could have also been cops.”

      Hart sat back in his chair. “When you called, you said an MCPD cop had committed suicide, another is also dead, and two others are charged with the attempted murder of a fellow officer. What in God’s name is going on with the police?”

      “Hell if I know. All I can say for sure is there’s a problem inside the MCPD. I just don’t know how big a problem.” Spence scowled. “After Jake got out of the hospital, a cop named Ed Bancroft snatched him and his adoptive mom. Bancroft’s partner, Kyle Malloy, was also in on the kidnap. Luckily, help got to Jake and his mom in time. Malloy got killed in a struggle and Bancroft was arrested. He clammed up, wouldn’t say a thing, then hanged himself in a holding cell.”

      “Did Jake ID him or Malloy as one of the men he saw with the green bags?”

      “Jake isn’t sure.” Spence paused. “There may be even more going on with the cops. The local rec center hired a basketball coach, an ex-con by the name of Danny Gates. He used to work for the Mercado mob.”

      “Used to?”

      “Used to,” Spence confirmed. “He’s gone straight. Gates and a cop named Molly French developed a rapport with a teen named Bobby Jansen—goes by the name Bobby J. After he figured out he could trust Danny and Molly he started opening up.”

      “The kid gets close to an ex-con and a cop?”

      “Strange combination,” Spence agreed. “A couple of weeks ago, Bobby got beaten and wound up in the E.R. Before he went into surgery he managed to tell Molly he’d been working for some bad guys. Because of Danny and Molly’s influence, Bobby decided to go straight. The bad guys got wind of that, beat him and left him for dead. Bobby told Molly the guys were cops who belong to a group called the Lion’s Den.”

      “Damn.” Hart pulled at his lip, staring into space as his mind worked. “What happened after Bobby got out of surgery?” he asked after a moment. “Did he I.D. the two men who beat him?”

      “Bobby went into a coma during surgery and hasn’t regained consciousness. When Molly French started digging into Bobby’s assault, someone took a shot at her. Later two of her fellow officers and a nurse involved with one of those cops, named Beau Maguire, tried to kill French. Maguire’s gone underground. His nurse girlfriend and his partner are in jail, keeping quiet.”

      Snagging his beer, Hart rose and walked to the opposite side the fireplace from where Spence stood. “You a member of the Lion’s Den, too?”

      Spence’s eyes narrowed. “Why the hell do you ask?”

      Hart gestured with his bottle toward the arm of the couch. “There’s a gold pin shaped like a lion on your suit coat’s lapel. Yance Ingram has one, too.”

      “That pin, my friend, is an award conceived years ago by Mission Creek’s then mayor and city council.”

      Hart gazed at the small gold lion pin, then looked back at Spence. “What did you do to earn yours?”

      “Before I became D.A., I did pro bono work for the battered-women’s shelter.”

      “What about Ingram? What good deed did he do?”

      “You’ll have to ask him. Like I said, the award has been in existence for years. You’ll spot a lot of lion pins around Mission Creek.”

      Hart nodded. “This Officer Molly French, is she on the up and up?”

      “It’s Detective French now. You can trust her. I can’t say that about other cops because I don’t know what’s going on inside the P.D. If anything.”

      “If?”

      “I’ve lost count of the calls I’ve gotten from the public demanding the police make an arrest on the bombing. I know that’s one reason I’m feeling pressure. But that’s not the only problem here. Maybe the four cops were a rogue group operating inside the department. Or maybe they’re the tip of an iceberg that’s just surfacing.”

      Rolling his shoulders, Spence walked to the nearest chair and sat. “That’s why I called you, Hart. You know about bombs. You know how a police department operates. I need you on the inside, telling me what’s going on.”

      “Why isn’t Molly French doing that?”

      “She is. Still, she can only dig so much. If there are more corrupt cops, it’s possible she’s being watched. Don’t forget someone took a shot at her. In my mind she’s in danger and needs to lie low.”

      Hart leaned a shoulder against the mantel. “What about the department’s top cop? Do you think he’s righteous?”

      “I don’t have a reason to think he isn’t. Ben Stone was born here, he’s been chief for years. Nothing like this has ever happened on the force. No evidence ties him to the Lion’s Den.”

      “How did he take it when you told him you want to put your own representative on his task force?”

      “Ben said they need all the help they can get.”

      “That could be the PR spin. If I was a Mission Creek cop, I’d get my back up if I couldn’t solve a case and somebody came in from the outside to look over my shoulder. Some big-town guy.”

      “Ben Stone’s in a tight spot, just like I am. He’s getting pressure from the mayor, city manager and the Lone Star’s board of directors to get the bombing solved and the crime scene released so the club can get on with remodeling. Ben’s people have had a ten-week shot at this and they’ve got nothing. Ben wants the case solved. Period. Who gets credit for that isn’t a prime consideration.”

      “Stone understands I work for you? That I report only to you?”

      “Yes. He’s agreed to give you access to all reports, crime scene and autopsy photos, everything. I told him you’d drop by his office sometime tomorrow to introduce yourself.”

      “I’ll go there in the morning.” Hart settled back onto the couch. A question had nagged at him since he’d taken Spence’s phone call at the CPD’s bomb squad. That and his conversation with Bonnie Brannigan had him wanting to clear the air.

      “Why me, Spence? Why did you call me?”

      “I view it as pure luck, since we lost contact with each other.” He raised a shoulder. “I got a flyer for a criminal justice conference a few weeks ago and saw you named as a speaker on a bombing panel. I had no idea you lived in Chicago or were a cop, much less a bomb tech. But I figured there had to be only one O’Brien with the first name of Hart so I gave you a call.”

      Hart shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. When I left Mission Creek, Zane Cooper accused me of stealing money from the golf shop. You and I worked together, I figured he must have told you I was thief. And I wondered if you believed I stole the money.”

      “Cooper

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