Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (types of ebook readers txt) 📕

Bernie spread his hands. “But then you’re back to square one. Why not go directly to the Feds?”

I sighed and shook my head. “We keep going in circles. If it was money he was after, when David was killed, why didn’t he approach Bob Shaw, or Shelly Pearce? Why did he go quiet?”

Dehan stared at me. “Maybe he’s dead.”

I looked down at the sheet of paper. “Philips died October 2007. David died 6th March, 2008. Just four or five months later.”

The sun had dropped behind the trees and the air had turned suddenly icy. Bernie shuddered and said, “I ought to be getting back. Look, you know that the minute you get something solid, this becomes a federal case, right?”

I nodded. “And we’ll hand it over to you the minute I know it’ll be prosecuted.”

He laughed. “That is a cagey reply, Stone, but I hear you and that is good enough for me.”

I thanked him for the list and he shook our hands warmly. “I’ll make my own way back. The less we are seen together at the moment, the better. Be safe.”

Dehan leaned her elbows on the bridge next to where I was standing and we watched him walk quickly away on his short, energetic legs. His camel coat flapped around his knees as he pulled it tight across his chest and turned up the collar. I sighed and shook my head again. “The information keeps building, and the more it builds the more it incriminates Hennessy and D’Angelo—and Lee, but we still haven’t a shred of anything that we can call actual, real evidence. Every bit of it is circumstantial.”

She nodded. “We need David’s contact. We need that hit man.”

I smacked her arm with the paper and said, “Come on. You must be exhausted and I know I am. Let’s get back to the precinct.”

She stared into my face.

“What did you leave at the precinct?”

I frowned. “What?”

“You’re not going to any precinct, Mr. Stone. You are going home, where I am going to cook you a chicken stew, and you are going to rest!”

I smiled, perhaps a little smugly, and allowed myself to be pushed toward Park Avenue South. As we walked, my phone rang.

“Stone? This is Inspector Newman here. We have Thorndike’s records. What do you want me to do with them?”

“I’m on my way home, sir. Doctor’s orders…”

“Really? So soon? I thought they were keeping you in.”

“Yeah. The Stone constitution. Can you email them to me?”

“Sure thing, John. You make sure you get your rest, you hear?”

“I hear you, Sir.”

I hung up and Dehan glanced at me. “Dave’s financials?”

I nodded. “Yup. Maybe this will give us what we’re looking for, Dehan. It’s either cherchez la femme or cherchez the filthy buck.”

And as dusk turned to evening, and the lights started to wink on around Central Park, she took my good arm and we headed back toward the car, and home.

Eighteen

She sat me on the sofa with my laptop and went upstairs. I’d been putting on a brave show, but the fact is, if somebody drives a half-inch of lead through you, twice, no matter how non-lethal the wound, it’s a deep shock to your system. Our organisms just don’t like having things on the inside that are supposed to be kept on the outside, like half-inch lumps of lead. So the truth was I felt pretty wrecked and grateful for the chance to rest. I lay back on the sofa and closed my eyes, aware that my hands had started to tremble. I heard her go into my bedroom, and a few moments later she came back down with four cushions and a blanket.

“You’re not stubborn,” she said. “You’re obstinate. It’s different, you know.”

She lifted my feet onto the couch and took off my shoes. I frowned at her. “What are you doing? I might have had holes in my socks. A man’s socks are a very personal, intimate thing. “

“Listen to you! You’re rambling. You’re probably feverish.” She packed the cushions behind my back and laid the blanket over me. “You know what the difference is, between stubborn and obstinate? Stubborn is determined and committed, obstinate is just plain stupid.”

“Hey! You backed me up in the hospital.”

“Yeah? That’s ’cause I’m obstinate.” She put my laptop on my lap. “Are you in pain?”

“Only a lot.”

“Listen to me! Of course you’re in pain. I’ll get you some pain killers and a whiskey.”

“That should do the trick.” As she walked away, I said, “I am never sure with you, Dehan, if you put it on for fun, or if this just happens to you when you are in the proximity of a kitchen.”

She didn’t answer. I opened up my computer and switched it on. My shoulder was beginning to throb badly, making it hard to think and focus. I could hear Dehan banging around in the kitchen. After a bit, she came back and put an occasional table beside me and handed me a glass of water and two painkillers. She had a weird look on her face which I was in too much pain to read. When she’d seen that I’d swallowed the pills, she turned on her heel and marched away to pour me the largest whiskey I had ever been given in my life. I squinted at her and saw that something weird was happening to her face. Her mouth seemed to be twitching.

“I’m going to have a shower. I may be a while. Then I’ll make you a chicken stew. You’ll eat a chicken stew right? Don’t be obstinate. You need to eat.”

I nodded and smiled. “I’ll eat a chicken stew. It sounds good.” I deepened my smile. “Thanks, Dehan.”

“Oh, shut