Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #1: Books 1-4 (A Dead Cold Box Set) by Blake Banner (best thriller books to read .txt) 📕

“You done?”

“Maybe.”

“What did he want?”

“What did he want…?” She got off the bed, jumped up and down a couple of times, and started pacing. “He wanted information.”

“Good. What information in particular?”

“He wanted to know if we had found Mick.”

“But that’s not right, is it?”

“No, because he already had channels in place to give him that information if and when we found him. Which was the point you made to him. So he wanted to know… if we had found something besides Mick!”

I spread my hands, “Which means?”

“That he knew there was something besides Mick to find. And there was only one way he could have known that.” She stared hard at me. I stared back, feeling vaguely unsettled. She was very intense. She went on, slower, “But if he killed Mick and Maria, why the hell would he send us searching for them?” She held up her hand. “Wait! I got this. Pro doesn’t do his own dirty work. He arranges for somebody to meet Mick here. Has him whacked, and then the hit man either gets killed on the job or makes off with the stash.”

She shook her head. “No, that is too convoluted. It’s simpler than that. It was misdirection. He heard we had revived the case. He knew a thorough investigation would eventually lead back to him, and wanted to cover himself by appearing to want Mick found…”

She stared at me again and sighed. I smiled. “Go and have a shower. You’ll feel better. We’ll eat and talk over dinner.”

Twenty-Two

She called for me a couple of hours later. She had a hint of lipstick and blue eye shadow. I smiled at her as I stepped out of the room. She was looking this way and that a lot. “You’re wearing makeup.”

She looked surprised, as though she hadn’t known she was wearing it. Then she shrugged. “Yeah, you know, I sometimes, just a bit…”

“Looks nice.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

We started walking. The sun had set, and the horizon was pink and pastel blue. The sky was vast. “I’ve been thinking,” she started.

“I guessed.”

“I think we need to pin down the things we know. Right? The things we know for sure. Line them up, and then see what that says to us.”

I nodded. “Okay, that sounds good.”

“So what do we know?” She’d had her hands in her pockets, but now she pulled them out and made a gesture, like she was setting out the things we knew in front of her. “We know that Nelson and his cousins were murdered by more than one professional. So that is our firm starting point.”

“Okay.”

“We know that whoever organized the hit wanted the money but not the dope. And we know that that person also took Maria. Okay?”

“That is all good, solid reasoning.”

She stopped dead and I turned to face her. “So, at this point, we can say that we know that the person who took Maria is Mick, so by irresistible extension, we know that Mick killed Nelson.” She held up her hand. “Wait! I know what you’re going to say. Mick was with Jenny. I’ll come back to that. For now, my reasoning is sound.”

I shrugged. “Okay.”

We started walking again. The smell of char-grilled steak wafted to us on the evening air along with the strains of the Eagles’ “Tequila Sunrise.” For just a moment, I felt like life didn’t get much better than this. She continued reasoning.

“What else do we know?”

We had reached Big Vern’s, and I held the door open for her to go in. She walked through, talking. “We know that Mick changed his name and came to Shamrock with Maria in his dream car. We know he left by an eccentric route that led west instead of south, and we know they were both killed in a very secluded spot in the Palo Duro Canyon.”

She paused to give the waitress our order, which was two sixteen-ounce rib eye steaks with french fries and two beers. The waitress went away, and Dehan said, “I’m nearly done.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“We know that the first person to point us unequivocally toward Mick was Pro. We know Pro wanted Mick found. And we know that as soon as Pro heard we had come here, he came running to discover what we’d found. Those are the things we know for sure. The question now is, what do they say to us?”

The beers came. I sipped and said, “Well, why don’t you talk me through what they say to you?”

That was what she was hoping I’d say and pulled her chair in and leaned forward, “Right. The question that leaps out at me as the most relevant is, why would Pro want to know something he already knew?”

“Where Mick was?”

“Exactly. The only possible answer, and the simplest, is that he didn’t know. Which means one thing—he did not kill Mick with his own hands. And accepting that, it strikes at the essence of this whole case.”

I frowned, intrigued. “Explain that to me.”

“From the very start, everywhere you look, there is the suggestion of somebody who was there, killed, and then vanished without leaving a trace. You mentioned it yourself. So here is how I think it works.” She pushed up her sleeves. “The Bronx has a power vacuum. The Triads, the Sureños, and the Mob all want in, but Nelson is holding the high ground. At the same time, for the past year, Mick has been wanting to get out because things are getting too hot for him. So he and Pro make a deal.”

I nodded. “I like this, Dehan.”

Her cheeks colored, but she acted like she hadn’t heard.

“Here’s the deal. Mick, for a fee from each, informs both the Triad and the Jersey Mob of when