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

“She was something else. Let me tell you.”

“I’d rather you not.”

Kittrell unlocked the car with his fob, and both detectives climbed inside. He waited until Quinn was settled inside before putting the keys in the ignition. “You ready for this?”

Quinn laughed. “Of course. I was born ready.”

“This ought to be interesting,” Kittrell said as he turned the key and the engine roared to life.

Quinn turned on the radio and started to scan the AM band for stations.

“Really? Talk radio?” Kittrell said.

“Beats listening to techno pop with vapid lyrics.”

Kittrell nodded. “You’ve got a point there.”

Quinn went through a half-dozen stations until he landed on KJR’s Mitch in the Morning. Mitch Levy and his crew were dissecting the recent posting of a video between a pair of Seattle FC players getting into it.

“I love to see this kind of passion from players,” Mitch said. “And Norfolk is right. These guys need to quit getting their panties in a bunch and stop being so sensitive. Norfolk is leading this team, and he was doing it before, God rest his soul, Sid Westin was killed. But let’s get to today’s really juicy news and talk about—”

Kittrell turned the radio off. “I’d rather listen to silence than that.”

“You know we’re going to catch these guys, whoever they are,” Quinn said.

“I know. I just—”

“Hey, this isn’t going to be the Arnold Grayson case all over again. You gotta believe that.”

Kittrell nodded. “I hope you’re right. But it’s about to get real interesting.”

He slowed as he turned onto a usually quiet street that today was teeming with news vans and reporters.

“What’s all this?” Quinn asked.

“Journalism in the twenty-first century.”

A photographer rushed over toward the detectives’ car and snapped a picture of Quinn, who shielded his face with his hands. Kittrell served notice to the reporters to clear a path by revving his engines. A few straggling reporters darted out of the way once they turned around, apparently pleased to see a pair of detectives pulling into the driveway of the house they’d staked out.

“Whether anything happens today or not, at least these poor, miserable souls have a story for tomorrow,” Kittrell said.

Quinn snickered and threw a piece of gum in his mouth. He held out the pack to Kittrell. “Wanna piece?”

Kittrell shook his head. “But I’d like to give them a piece of my mind.”

“Don’t make this any more difficult than it’s already going to be.”

Moments later, the two detectives were standing in front of the door to the Westins’ house.

“Does Rebecca know we’re coming?” Quinn asked.

“I didn’t tell her, if that’s what you mean.”

“On purpose?”

“You ought to know me by now. I prefer to surprise people. I get far better reactions, reactions that tell the truth about what a person is thinking or feeling, not a well-measured response.”

Kittrell rang the doorbell.

A few seconds later, the airy voice of a woman drifted from the other side of the door. “Please go away. We’re not interested in talking.”

“Mrs. Westin, my name is Mel Kittrell, and I’m a detective with the Seattle PD. We’re following up with you for a few questions regarding your husband’s death.”

The door slowly swung open, and the detectives entered amid a flurry of cameras clicking behind them. Quinn leaned against the door to close it shut once he was all the way inside. Rebecca Westin turned the deadbolt and gestured for them to enter the living room just off the main entryway.

“This is a nice place you have here, Mrs. Westin,” Kittrell said.

“Please, call me Rebecca,” she said. “And thanks.” She paused. “Can you tell me what this is all about? Have you found the killers?”

Kittrell glanced at her hands, which she wrung several times before she took a seat on a small couch to the right of a larger couch. The detectives sat on the larger couch.

“Did somebody knock, Becs? I heard—” A man appeared from around the corner, wearing a towel. His hair appeared wet. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Kittrell glanced at Rebecca, who’d put her head down and was shielding her eyes with her right hand. He then stood up and offered his hand. “Detective Mel Kittrell with the Seattle PD. And you are?”

“Wet,” the man said. He wiped his hand off on his towel. “Jonathan Umbert, Sid Westin’s agent.”

Quinn stood up and shook the man’s hand as well before sitting back down.

“Would you care to join us?” Kittrell said before he sat down.

Putting up both hands in a gesture of surrender, Umbert declined. “I don’t want to intrude. Besides, I need to finish getting ready.”

“Just go, Jonathan,” Rebecca finally said.

“Nice to meet you,” Umbert said before he scurried down the hall.

“I apologize, Detectives. He stopped by to check in on me after his racquetball game at the gym this morning, and he had an emergency meeting suddenly scheduled that he needed to get ready for but didn’t have enough time. I told him he could shower here so he could make it in time.”

“We’re not here to judge, Rebecca,” Kittrell said. He glanced at Quinn with a knowing look.

Quinn leaned forward. “But we do have a few questions for you.”

Rebecca turned over the newspaper that had been lying on the coffee table. “Okay, I’m happy to help however I can, especially if it’ll help catch the men who murdered my husband.”

“There have been quite a few interesting developments in the case lately, but I first want to begin by asking you about the state of your marriage. I know better than to believe everything I read in the papers, so I thought it would be best to get the answer straight from you.”

“I appreciate that, Detective. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the media made it out to be.” She clasped her hands together and gazed out the window for a moment before continuing, “It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t horrible. We had our issues like all married couples, but I’d say we got along quite peachy.”

“That’s good to hear,” Quinn chimed in.

“Yes, it certainly wasn’t the house of horrors the