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

to coddle the media just to get positive stories written about the team, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know if I’d use the word coddle,” Cal began. “But he certainly has a reputation for being the anti-media relations director.”

“Well, you guys can be cruel at times.”

Cal shook his head and smiled. “I will admit that there are plenty of colleagues of mine who are more interested in the click than they are the truth. Ever heard the saying, ‘If it bleeds, it leads?’”

Kittrell nodded. “Unfortunately, it’s a saying we repeat far too often in my line of work when a case we’re working on becomes the evening’s lead story.”

“Well, the new mantra is more along the lines of, ‘If it clicks, it sticks.’”

“At least you’re being honest about what you’re doing.”

Cal shook his head. “That’s not the kind of journalism I signed up for.”

“We all sign up for something far more adventurous or exciting. But that’s never what we get. You’ve been around long enough to know that, haven’t you?”

“It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Seattle FC media relations director Paul Holloway finally reached midfield before bending over and putting his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. “What … are you two … doing here?”

Kittrell held up his badge for Holloway to see. “I’m doing my job, just like you are, apparently.”

“So am I,” Cal chimed in.

“No media,” Holloway said, still struggling to catch his breath. “You know … better than that, Cal … You are free to come back on Monday.”

Cal shrugged and glanced at Kittrell. Kittrell gave him a sympathetic nod as he watched Cal turned and walk away.

Once Cal walked about thirty meters and was beyond earshot, Holloway stood upright and glanced at Kittrell. “That guy is nothing but trouble, always poking his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Kittrell fixed his gaze on the drill taking place right in front of him, almost defiantly refusing to turn and look at Holloway in the eyes. “Cut him some slack, will ya? He’s just doing his job, just like you are.”

“Yeah, but—”

“It doesn’t sound like you want to cut him any slack.”

Holloway sighed. “Fine. You win.” He paused a beat before turning to business. “What is it that you want?”

“I want to talk with a few of your players.” He cut his eyes at Holloway. “Nothing to be alarmed about. Just a few routine interviews.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Kittrell nodded but didn’t even glance at Holloway.

“Who do you want to talk to?”

***

KITTRELL COMPLETED A FEW INTERVIEWS and lumbered back toward his car where Cal Murphy met him just outside the gate.

“You again?”

Cal laughed. “You nor Holloway will ever get rid of me that easily,” he said. “You can count on that.”

“Well, tell me what it is that you want. Maybe I can help—maybe not.”

“Are you on the Seattle Swipers case?”

Kittrell rolled his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Detective Kittrell. I’m a print journalist. The exaggerated eye roll and snarky look doesn’t translate well into words. Perhaps you could say something.”

“Say something, like yes or no?”

“It’d be a start.”

“Fine,” Kittrell said as he put his hands on his hips. “I’m on the case. There. You happy now?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I’m very happy because I have a few ideas I want to run by you.”

“Oh, God, another gumshoe.”

“No, no, no. I’m far more than that, but please just hear me out.”

Kittrell sighed and threw his head back, rolling it around several times. After a moment of silence, he glanced at Cal. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“I think this was a premeditated strike.”

“Interesting theory, but right now I’m just trying to solve a robbery, not a murder.”

“Who said anything about murder?”

When Kittrell looked up at Cal, he could see the reporter grinning from ear to ear.

“Are you recording this conversation?”

“Should I be?” Cal asked.

“No, you shouldn’t. But I think you need to bury those conspiracy ideas.”

“Yet, here you are, investigating in a strange environment.”

“It was a robbery gone bad,” Kittrell said, parroting the mantra his boss encouraged him to repeat.

“So, again, what are you doing out here?”

“Due diligence,” Kittrell shot back.

Cal handed Kittrell a business card. “If anything comes up and you want to share it with me, here’s my card. I know what it’s like to work for an overbearing boss.”

“But I never said anything about—”

“You didn’t have to,” Cal said as he strode toward his car. He stopped and turned toward Kittrell. “It was written all over your face.”

Kittrell crammed the card into his shirt pocket and watched Cal drive away.

He knew exactly what it was like to work for an overbearing boss, and he hated every minute of it. Even more, he hated giving Quinn the slip just to interview a few Seattle FC players. But maybe he needed a new partner, one who could help draw out the thieves—and killers.

CHAPTER 10

CAL TRUDGED TOWARD his desk, bracing for the inevitable tongue lashing Buckman was going to give him. It wasn’t as if Cal wasn’t trying to do right by his editor, but he couldn’t shake his hunch that Sid Westin’s death wasn’t merely the result of a wrong place, wrong time shooting. Yet Cal didn’t have a single shred of proof, a fact he couldn’t deny or excuse. Staying on this path much longer without any evidence destined him for, at best, office ridicule, or, at worst, career purgatory.

“Cal! Get in here!” Buckman bellowed.

“How does he do that?” Cal mumbled to himself. “I didn’t even walk near his office.”

“Buckman’s got a special radar,” Josh Moore offered as he looked up from his desk adjacent to Cal’s. “Or he injects us all with a tracking beacon.”

Cal forced a smile. He would’ve laughed aloud on most other days at his former college buddy’s witty comment. But he knew what was coming, and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

“I don’t know which is more frightening.”

After scanning the room, Moore looked up at Cal. “I have a special cloaking