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

Castilian office. There was a hand-carved, oak desk in the middle of the floor and she stopped, staring at it, and then turned to face us. “They’re in there, but I haven’t got a key. He keeps the key in the safe.”

Dehan turned to me. Her face was tight. I pulled out my Swiss Army knife and went around to sit in his big black leather chair. I stopped, looked up at Mary. “Top right?”

“Yes…”

I folded the knife and put it away. “The key is in the lock.” I slid the drawer open and pulled out a wooden case. I placed it on the desk and Dehan came and stood by my side as I opened it. There was a silver Desert Eagle and an empty space next to it for the Smith and Wesson .38.

Dehan stared at me. There was no triumph in her expression, only anxiety. “Stone, we should have seen this sooner.”

Mary was staring at us, from one to the other. “What is it?” She came and looked into the box, then at our faces. “What does it mean?”

Dehan stared at her a moment. “Mary, if he was distressed, or in trouble, where would he go? Has he got a friend…?”

Mary had gone gray. “In trouble? What kind of trouble?”

“We are not sure yet. Where would he go?”

“Ed hasn’t got any friends…” Her lip was trembling, her eyes filling with tears. “Maybe his office?”

“Can you call him on his cell?”

“Yes!” She fumbled in her pocket, pulled out her phone, and dialed his number. She gazed at us in turn. “It’s switched off.”

“Mary, we are going to look for Ed. If he should come back here, I need you to call us straight away, you understand?”

She gripped Dehan’s hands. “What’s going on, Detective Dehan? What has he done?”

Dehan went to speak, then stopped, then shook her head. “We don’t know yet, Mary. We just really need to find him. I need a recent photograph, and what car does your husband drive?”

She stared at us, fighting the tears. “A dark blue Audi 8…”

We made our way out into the midday sun again. As Dehan climbed into the Jag, she was calling the precinct. I made a quick call of my own, then got in after her, fired up the big, old engine and we pulled away. She was saying, “I need an unmarked car on the Irizarry house and a APB on Eduardo Irizarry. I’m sending you a photograph now. He drives a dark blue Audi 8, license plate…”

She finished giving the details and hung up. Then she sat staring around her as we moved north-west along the Cross Bronx Expressway.

“Where are we going?”

“I think I know where he is.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then, “You going to tell me?”

“I think he’s at Rosario’s house.”

“Angela’s house?”

I shrugged. “If you like, but to him it’s Rosario’s house.”

“How do you know this? That he’s there?”

“You heard him. She is the reason behind all of this.”

She raised that devastating eyebrow at me again. “Isn’t that a little romantic, Stone?”

I smiled. “Maybe I’m more romantic than you think.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right. Whatever. Question is, is he?”

I glanced at her. “The man who fell in love with Rosario because she disagreed with him with that fire and passion that only a Latina can have? I’d say so. Romantics can be arrogant, conceited, and obnoxious, Dehan. I should know.”

She shrugged, then after a bit she smiled, too. “OK. It’s as good a place as any to start.”

“Have I ever led you astray?”

“Only once that I can think of.”

I didn’t ask.

Twenty minutes later, we pulled up in front of Angela’s house. I killed the engine and we sat for a couple of minutes looking at the green, peeling door with the yellow police tape still hanging forlornly across it. The dark windows looked lifeless. Dehan shook her head. “You sure about this?”

I got out and climbed the nine steps to the porch and examined the lock. It didn’t look as though it had been tampered with. I peered in through the window. There was a faint glow from a small back yard, but nothing else. For the second time in a short while I pulled out my Swiss Army knife, selected the screwdriver, fit it into the lock and gave it a firm thump with my fist. I fiddled a moment and the door opened. I pocketed my knife, lifted the tape, and stepped in to the dingy, shabby hall.

The living room was empty and silent. Dehan stared around. I wondered if she was remembering being there with her mother and Rosario. I guessed she was. She looked at me and her face said she wanted to leave.

“He isn’t here, Stone.”

“Maybe.”

I climbed the stairs. I didn’t try to be quiet. The bathroom was empty, and so were the bedrooms. Knowing that Moses and Angela were dead somehow made the rooms feel emptier, more quiet, more still.

I went into the back bedroom and stood at the window, looking out. Dehan was in the doorway behind me, watching me. Her voice sounded odd, disembodied in the gloomy room.

“It’s OK to be wrong, Sensei.”

“Sure, I know.”

“He’s not here.”

“He is.”

“Where, Stone?”

I smiled. “In the back yard. He sitting there, having a beer.”

I could see him from where I stood, sitting in a deck chair on a small patch of lawn. He had a bottle of beer in his hand and the .38 on his lap. He was staring up at the trees and at the sky.

Dehan appeared by my side and stared down at him. “Son of a gun…”

“He knows we’re here. I made sure he heard us.” I turned to face her. “Trust me, Dehan, let me go