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

That all comes later. I just need to develop a plausible theory and work it until its logical conclusion.”

“And what theory are you working right now?”

“The one that says Rebecca Westin is behind all of this.”

Cal eyed him cautiously. “What makes you say that?”

“Evidence, to be honest. Though if I was backed into a corner, I’d say most of it was circumstantial. But Rebecca will benefit the most from Sid’s death.”

“That’s far from news. Aren’t most spouses the primary beneficiary of their spouse?”

“Unless there’s a written will, yes. But in the case of a young husband dying, that’s almost always an easy out.”

“Why is it not only easy but also correct this time around?”

“For one, we’ve already been able to tie the vehicle the bank robbers used back to the Westins.”

Cal smiled and held up his hand. “Is this on the record or off? I just want to clarify.”

“For now, it’s off. But help me solve this thing and that will all change.”

“I’m listening.”

“The unfortunate part of my story is that our chief witness in the story hung himself in his jail cell after he agreed to cooperate.”

“Sounds fishy to me?”

Kittrell’s eyes widened as he stared at Cal for a moment before speaking, “That’s what I said. Nobody at the department was listening to me.” He sighed. “And to be honest, I never imagined he would take his own life.”

“That’s because he didn’t.”

Kittrell nodded at Cal. “You’ve got a point—a point that fell on deaf ears when I made it at the department right after it happened.”

“But right now, there are just too many things aligning for Rebecca not to be the killer.” Cal leaned back in his seat. “Way too many.”

“Is there something I should know about?” Kittrell asked.

Cal fished his cell phone out of his pocket and tapped in the security code. He navigated to the correct page and slid the phone across the table to the sergeant. “Take a look at this.”

Kittrell cocked his head to one side as he took the phone and stared at the page on the screen. He squinted as he stared at the image. “What am I looking at here?”

“This picture was supposedly taken and posted when Sid Westin was out of town for Seattle FC’s last road game.”

“I get that, but what am I looking at?”

Cal took another sip of his coffee. “I think the better question is who, Detective.”

“How’d you get this photo?” Kittrell said, his gaze darting from the screen to Cal.

“Someone sent it to me.”

“Did they obtain it legally?”

“Doubt it. Look in the window in the background.”

Kittrell zoomed on the picture and gawked at the image on the screen.

“Do you see it?” Cal asked.

Kittrell chuckled to himself. “Oh, I see it all right. I just want to know who that is.”

“Look a little closer.”

After a few seconds, Kittrell smacked his forehead with his hand. “Is that who I think it is?”

Cal nodded. “Yep. Sid Westin’s agent, Jonathan Umbert.”

“What was he doing with Rebecca Westin?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, but I can almost guarantee you they weren’t going over Sid’s latest contract.”

Kittrell shook his head. “This just got really interesting.”

CHAPTER 22

CAL FILED HIS STORY on Lynch and took a call from Buckman less than fifteen minutes later. According to Buckman, he’d received an email from an anonymous source with footage of Cal’s confrontation with Ramsey at King’s Hardware. Buckman went into a tirade, complete with yelling, cursing, and threatening. Buckman’s bluster didn’t bother Cal too much as he’d experience a far more emotional Buckman when the curmudgeon once exploded in a staff meeting over the inability to apply the Oxford comma in various articles in that day’s edition.

“Finally,” Buckman said, “I’m taking you off this story completely. You are done, Cal. I can’t believe you acted like this toward a fellow colleague. You’re lucky I didn’t fire you over this.”

Cal knew better than to concoct some excuse. Enduring a tongue lashing from his wife was sufficient. Buckman was only telling Cal what he already knew.

He hung up and let out a guttural growl. Knowing Ramsey the way he did, Cal suspected this was his doing. It was confirmed less than five minutes later when Cal received a text message from Ramsey with nothing but an emoji sticking its tongue out.

I wish that was your face so I could punch it right now, you spineless punk.

It was too late to dwell on what he should have done to get himself back on the story. Violence wasn’t the answer—and he knew it. All his justifications felt lame and contrived and desperate. He was driven by both the desire to atone for missing on the Gonzalez story as well as his dogged determination to get the truth out. But Kelly was right that he knew better, and it was nothing more than an impulsive decision to try and reassert himself in one of the most important stories in the city to come along in the past few years, even if it didn’t seem that way to anyone else.

A bank robbery that resulted in the death of one of the city’s most beloved sports stars was a shame, yet that story that didn’t have many legs. But a murder disguised as a bank robbery? The latter was the kind of story sadistic reporters dream about. And Cal fell squarely into that category. He craved stories with angles galore and legs that would carry them for miles of column space on the front page. While he felt like his ability to worm his way back into Buckman’s good graces might appear like an insurmountable challenge, he knew he’d find a way back armed with the truth of what really happened—as long as he beat Ramsey to it.

The questions of who and why gnawed at Cal as he mulled over his hypothesis that the bank robbery was all a cover for the blatant murder of Sid Westin. Rebecca, Sid’s wife, was looking more and more guilty by