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

he knew there were enough suspicious elements to this bank robbery case to realize that there was more beneath the surface—perhaps much more than anyone ever imagined.

When he entered the precinct, Kittrell was met by Chief Roman.

“Please tell me I can close this case by telling the press that these greedy sons of bitches all died in a shootout with one another?” Roman said before taking a sip from his coffee. “I’m so tired of everyone crawling all over me about this case.”

Kittrell held up his finger as he rushed past Roman. “Not yet.”

Roman threw his head back as anguish washed over his face. “I swear, Kittrell, if you’re wrong about this, I’m going to have you writing parking tickets on Market Street for the next six months.”

Kittrell mumbled something unintelligible. He wasn’t listening to Roman—or anyone else, for that matter—all he cared about was looking at the footage from the robbery. A few clicks on his mouse and he was watching the images from the surveillance video on his screen. After fifteen seconds, he saw all he needed to see.

“Sorry, Chief, but you can’t close the case yet.”

“Please, Kittrell, for the love of God, can you tell me why?”

Kittrell stood up and walked toward his boss as a wry grin eased across his face. “Fisher, the suspect who we think shot and killed both Sid Westin and the security guard, was indeed there at the scene.”

“So, it's over? We did it, right?”

Kittrell held up his index finger. “Not so fast, Chief. If you want to close the robbery, fine. Consider it closed. Those three dead bodies at Harrison Street were likely all involved in the robberies. Fisher was wearing the same pair of shoes, and you will likely find that the gun in his hand matched the one fired at the robbery.”

“So what’s the hold up here?”

Kittrell walked a few steps back toward his desk and tilted his screen toward Roman. The image frozen on the screen was an enlarged and enhanced image of Fisher.

“What am I looking at here?” Roman asked.

“Fisher was left handed.” He pointed at the screen. “See. He’s waving his gun around with his left hand.” Kittrell clicked the mouse and the security video from the bank moved forward, depicting Fisher shooting Sid Westin and then the security guard. “At the scene on Harrison Street, he’s holding the gun in his right hand—and the entry wound from the bullet to his head is from the right side.”

“So maybe he didn't commit suicide. Maybe it was a shootout and he got shot in the head.”

“Nice theory, Chief, but I know that’s more wishful thinking on your part than good police work. And I inspected the gunshot wound to Fisher’s head. It was from point blank range. No way a shot from across the room created an entry wound like the one I found.”

“So, what's your theory, hot shot?”

“I think someone who Fisher knew and trusted was there with them. Whoever our mystery man was made quick work of the other two guys before shooting Fisher.”

“Someone he knew and trusted?”

“Someone he trusted very well. Someone he trusted with his life.” Kittrell paused to let the theory sink in with Roman. “This was a cover-up job. You can celebrate catching Sid Westin’s killer if you like, but there’s more to this case—a lot more.”

CHAPTER 28

CAL DIALED BUCKMAN’S NUMBER and crossed his fingers. With the way Buckman dismissed him from covering the story after Ramsey leaked edited footage of their altercation, he considered getting back on the story a long shot—but he had to try. Cal’s ace in the hole of outing Ramsey as the Emerald City King would only make him look petty and certainly wouldn’t guarantee that Buckman would give him the story back.

“Don’t you ever take any time off?” Buckman groused after he answered his phone. “I figured you’d be watching basketball somewhere.”

“If there’s one thing you’ve taught me, it’s that good reporters never sleep on a big story.”

Buckman chuckled. “Problem for you is you don’t have one right now.”

“Maybe you’ll disagree with me after what I’m about to tell you.”

“I’m listening.”

“I just got a call from one of my sources who told me that Seattle FC’s Tim Peterson is about to be suspended for PED usage. He tested positive for HGH.”

“Oh, drug tests and pro sports, the gift that keeps on giving. When are these leagues just going to say, ‘Screw it. Put whatever you want in your body. See if we care?’”

“Aren’t they pretty much already doing this with the exception of an occasional suspension of some no-name player as a show of good faith?”

“You’ve got a point.”

“Do I have my story back?”

“Cal, we’ve already been through this. What you did to Ramsey was deplorable—assaulting a fellow co-worker and—”

“Assault is such a strong word. Besides, I wasn’t the only one throwing punches.”

“Whatever. The point is you knew better, and I’ve got a competent journalist who can take this story from here.”

Cal sighed. “Maybe next time I’ll think twice about passing along my scoops.”

“I’d rather you think twice about punching a co-worker.”

“Oh, admit it, Buckman. You’d love to punch Ramsey’s smug face.”

“Wanting to do something and actually doing it are what separates a civilized society from a criminal one. We don’t live in the Wild West any more, Cal. You need to learn a lesson.”

“Fine. You win. I’ve learned my lesson. But you know Ramsey’s gonna screw it up. Don’t act like he’s going to be able to deliver this for you and meet your high standards.”

“Well, at least he’s not punching anyone in the face. I’ll take what small concessions I can with him for now.”

“Speaking of getting punched in the face, I wanted to let you know I got assaulted in an alley yesterday.”

Buckman was quiet for a moment. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. Just a few bruised ribs.”

"Glad it was nothing worse. What was it about?”

“Apparently, somebody named William Lynch didn't like the fact that I