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

that’s what I think it is, too.” She opened her mouth but he raised a hand and stopped her. “I have asked you a question. What is justice? You have answered me with ugly noises and implied insults, but with no reasoned thought. I am going to ask you to think about the question, for yourself, and answer it. You have committed your life to the pursuit of justice, it might be a good idea if you had a clear understanding of what it is. In the meantime, unless you have any other questions for me, I think it is time for us to part.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Ananda.”

“Thank you, John. Please be careful with your cargo. It is dangerous.” He turned to Dehan, who was looking at him like he had sprouted antennae from his head. “Carmen, I hope you find what you are looking for.”

And a moment later, he was down the steps and striding along the path toward the bridge. I watched him go and I wasn’t sure whether to smile or not. I had seen the tattoo he had on his forearm. It was half concealed by his saffron robe, but at one moment, while he was talking, the robe had slipped. He had made no effort to hide it. It was a winged dagger with a motto across it, ‘Who Dares Wins’. The emblem and the motto of the British SAS.

In the end I smiled, shoved the files back in the rucksack, and stood. “Come along, Little Grasshopper. Let’s get back to the Big Apple and cause a bit of mayhem and pandemonium.”

We walked slowly through the peaceful sunshine, listening to the faint twitter of distant birds and the ripple of water from all the streams and fountains that played here and there throughout the complex. And somewhere, nearby, there was the deep, resonant chime of a large, tubular bell.

Twenty Five

We caught American Airlines out of Phoenix International at twenty-five after four that afternoon, and landed at La Guardia five hours later, at fifteen minutes after eleven, New York time. I slept all the way and arrived feeling exhausted, with a hellish mixture of numb aches and shooting, stabbing pains in my shoulder.

The airport was practically empty as we came out of arrivals, and I was suddenly acutely aware that our weapons and our badges were locked in the Jag in the secure parking lot. We crossed the echoing, cavernous hall, looking over our shoulders, and stepped into the cold, New York January night. Like me, Dehan was scanning every corner and every shadow, every car and every pedestrian. But nobody knew we were there. Nobody knew where we had been. Not yet.

We got the shuttle to the parking garage and finally made it to the car. Dehan drove and neither of us spoke all the way home. My shoulder was killing me. When she finally pulled up and killed the engine, she looked at me.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

I nodded and reached for the handle to open the door. She put her hand on my knee. “Wait.”

She pulled her Glock, cocked it, and climbed out of the car, scanning the street in both directions. I swore to myself, drew my weapon, and got out, too.

She said, “We’re clear.”

Condensation billowed from her mouth, luminous under the streetlamps. I opened the trunk and took out our bags, hiding the pain as I lifted them. I carried them up to the porch and she followed, still covering the street. I unlocked the door, flipped on the switch, and we went inside. Then we checked every room. When we knew we were safe, she smiled at me and said, “Weird, huh?”

“Yeah.” I watched her go to the kitchen and get a glass of water and two painkillers. She brought them to me and I took them and sat. “I’ll tell you what it brings home to me, Dehan. We can’t hang around for the Feds. We have to act and act now. I’ve got some pizzas in the freezer. We stick them in the oven, make a gallon of coffee, and spend the next two or three hours, however long it takes, going through the evidence. When we know it’s watertight, we tell Newman—I don’t care if it’s four AM, we wake him up. And first thing in the morning, we make our arrests. Then, when the DA is primed and the suspects are in custody, we hand it over. Right now we are sitting ducks, and the longer we wait, the greater the risk.”

She nodded. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

And for the next four hours, we ate pizza, drank a gallon of coffee, and waded through reams of evidence, photographs, DVDs, and CDs. The evidence was not compelling, it wasn’t damning. It was conclusive. There was absolutely no question that D’Angelo and Carol Hennessy had conspired in the murder of every name on the list and a few besides. There was no doubt, reasonable or otherwise, that Carol Hennessy had ordered their assassinations. David had been right. This was not dynamite. It was nuclear, and when this shit hit the fan it would be the biggest scandal of the century. Questions would be asked from the lowliest barstool in Hunts Point to the Senate, in every newspaper and on every talk show around the world—how was it possible for this woman to get away with what she had done for so long? Where were the checks and balances? Where was the constitutional machinery that was supposed to make this kind of thing impossible?

When we had finished, Dehan flopped back in her chair and rubbed her face with her hands. Then she sat and stared at me for a long moment. “Stone, however many we put inside, or the Feds put inside, how many will get away?”

“I don’t know, Dehan, but after this is over, it is going to