Dead Drop by Jack Patterson (reading cloud ebooks txt) 📕

“Well, you are my crack detective partner.”

Quinn broke into a smile. “No matter how hard of a time you give me here, your rationale for propping your feet on top of Roman’s desk is ridiculous.”

“How’s that?”

“You two aren’t partners—and I guarantee you that he won’t like it.”

A faint grin spread across Kittrell’s lips. “We’ll see about that.”

A few moments later, the door flew open and Roman shuffled inside. When he turned around, his eyes went straight for Kittrell’s feet. “How many times do I have to tell you that I hate it when people mess up my desk?” He pulled Kittrell’s feet off his desk and gestured for him to get up. Kittrell complied and sat down next to Quinn as they both watched Roman open up the bottom right drawer on his desk and pull out a bottle of some cleaning agent and a rag.

Roman squirted the liquid onto his desk and scrubbed the spot furiously. “So, what are you boys doing in my office so early? I hope you’ve found something on the robbery.”

“As soon as we do, you’ll be the first to know, sir,” Kittrell said.

Roman didn’t look up as he continued to clean. “Have you heard from forensics yet on the casings found at the scene?”

Quinn pulled his chair closer to Roman’s desk. “Not yet.”

“What about the autopsy? Have we heard anything back from the coroner on that?”

Kittrell sighed. “Still waiting for that, too.”

Roman stopped cleaning and finally looked up at the two detectives across the desk from him. “So, what have you been doing? Creating some plausible scenarios about who the perps are and why they attacked this particular bank? Have you done anything that’s going to help us catch them? I’ve got to speak to the press soon, and I need to give them an update—or at least give off the impression that you two are doing your jobs and aren’t going to let the department and this city down again.”

Kittrell leaned forward. “Sir, if I may, I—”

“You may find out what’s going on, Kittrell. That’s what you may do.”

“Look, just indulge me for a moment, okay?”

Roman opened his drawer and dug out a toothpick before sliding it between his lips. “Go ahead.”

“What if Sid Westin was actually the target instead of the bank? What if the bank was just a red herring to distract us from a brazen murder?”

Roman’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not asking me to indulge a theory; that’s asking me to believe lunacy.”

“But, sir, there’s more, and if you—”

“That’s enough.” Roman turned his gaze toward Quinn. “You agree with this cockamamie theory?”

Quinn shrugged. “I agree that it’s not likely, but it’s still worth checking out. I don’t think anyone in this department wants another person to get away with murder, do we?”

“Of course not. But this isn’t a homicide case; this is a damn bank robbery gone bad. Your job is to figure out a way to find the punks who were behind this so we can arrest them for armed robbery and murder. You’re both good detectives. Now go do your job.”

Kittrell stood and put his head down as he exited the office, followed by an equally subdued Quinn.

“That went over well,” Kittrell said.

“You would’ve been better off just keeping your feet on his desk,” Quinn quipped.

They turned toward their desks when one of the uniformed officers approached Kittrell. “Detective, we just received a call on the tip line that you might be interested in hearing. I put the recording to your voicemail.”

Kittrell hustled toward his desk and slid into his chair, while Quinn sat on top of Kittrell’s desk. Kittrell dialed his voicemail and switched to the speakerphone as they listened in.

“I’m calling about Sid Westin’s death at the robbery that took place earlier this week,” said the voice of a nervous male caller. “I—I—I just wanted to say that there may be more to this. I know that Sid was about to be outed for using performance-enhancing drugs. And”—there was a pause with some rustling going on in the background—“there’s more, but I can’t say any more. Gotta go.” Click.

Kittrell hung up and spun around in his chair to look at Quinn. “What do you make of that?”

“I’m not sure. What are you thinking?”

Kittrell shrugged. “There could be something to it. I think we both agree that it’s possible that this was more than just your cut-and-dry armed robbery, though we’re not sure what yet. Maybe this is the key.”

“Or maybe it’s someone trying to punk us after the Arnold Grayson case.”

Kittrell held his index finger in the air. “That’s a possibility we can’t rule out either. Sorting through the crap in this case isn’t going to be easy. But I think we ought to wait until the report comes out before we start building theories around an anonymous call from the tip line.”

Quinn nodded and got up before returning to his desk.

Kittrell pulled out his notebook and jotted down a few notes. He publicly stated his position on the tip, holding it suspect. But, privately, the gears inside his head were whirring. This was the break he’d been hoping for.

Now, it was just a matter of constructing a believable theory and pitching it to Quinn and Roman as Kittrell began the investigation. And it wouldn’t be easy.

CHAPTER 7

BILL LANCASTER RUBBED HIS HANDS together as he waited for the FBI agents to enter the room. The doctor glanced at his hands, which had started to bead with sweat. Patting his hands dry on his pants, he stared at the two-way mirror directly in front of him. He knew they were watching, but he couldn’t make the color return to his face or appear less nervous. If they revealed their strategy, he might relax—but not a second sooner. He couldn’t fake courage.

For the past few months, he’d been wondering when this encounter would take place. A friend at the St. Louis FBI field office warned him