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

a deep breath, afraid to utter his next few words. “No, Buckman, I'm not gonna do that. I can't break trust with my source. That's the most valuable thing I have right now with anyone I work with.” He paused for a moment. "I can't even believe you'd ask me to do that.”

“Damn it, Cal. Why are you being so ornery about this?”

“Because this story deserves a pro, not a hack like Ramsey. What did he call, like one person? And then he runs back to you, telling you that everyone is being mean to him?”

Buckman was silent for a few seconds. “If you don’t give me your source, I'm going to have to assume that you invented this to get back at Ramsey.”

“Wha—How? I can't even believe I'm hearing this.”

“And I can't believe that you're acting the way that you are. It's not like you, Cal.”

Buckman hung up.

Cal stood up and paced around his living room before letting out a few primal screams. His frustration level had been rising for a while with Buckman and Ramsey—and now he had to release some tension. Before Cal had time to consider the best way to release that tension, his phone rang again, this time with a call from a surprising person: Jonathan Umbert.

“Hi, Cal. I heard that you were looking for me while I was gone,” Umbert began. "But I'm back now.”

“Where were you again? London?”

“Yes, now I can’t discuss details or name names at this point, but it appears like Seattle FC might be getting some fine up and coming talent next season.”

“That’s not why I stopped by your office.”

“Yes, I heard that you were accompanied by a detective. Is everything okay? Is this about Sid? Have the police found anything yet?”

“Not yet, but they’re close. I was just consulting with the Seattle PD on the case since I’m no longer covering it.”

“Well, just let me know any time. My door is always open.”

“How late is it going to be open this evening?”

“Well, I'm just going to be down here watching some basketball on the big screen in my office and catching up on some paperwork. Feel free to stop by this evening if you like.”

“I’ll call you when I’m headed your way.”

Cal hung up and dashed over to his laptop. He had an idea but needed to confirm it. He quickly called up the documents he’d received from the FBI regarding Dr. Bill Lancaster and the HGH distribution allegations. He remembered that there were a number of players in the Seattle area who were the supposed recipients of the illegal drugs. However, Cal had never been able to make a common connection. Initially, he suspected that maybe it was a doctor who consulted with the all the city's pro sports teams. But there wasn't one. Then he wondered if it was a sports medicine doctor who worked with athletes who’d been injured or maybe even a therapist. Yet in his cursory research, he couldn't find any connections.

Then he stopped and started typing the name of each athlete listed in the report and researching them again. With each name, he began to realize a common denominator.

A smile spread across his face.

Gotcha!

He picked up his phone and dialed Kittrell’s number.

“Wait until he hears this.”

CHAPTER 29

CAL DIDN’T HESITATE to put his basketball viewing on hold. He was already so far behind in The Times’ office pool that he was sure Sandra in accounting might have a legitimate claim on his job by the end of the tournament. He drove toward Umbert’s downtown office, which happened to be only a few blocks away from the Seattle PD’s main precinct.

Parked in the garage, Cal waited for Kittrell. After a few minutes of listening to the end of the game between Duke and Purdue, Cal shielded his eyes when Kittrell rolled into the parking spot next to him. He got out of his car and waited for Kittrell to do the same.

“You ready?” Cal asked as Kittrell climbed out of his car.

“Let’s nail this bastard.”

They entered the elevator and stood quietly before Kittrell broke the silence.

“Cal, don’t you write a word of this—not until you run this by me. You understand? I can’t have Chief looking bad.”

Cal nodded. “Got it.”

The front desk in the spacious decadent office was unoccupied.

“He should really spend more on hiring dedicated employees,” Kittrell said, sarcasm dripping in his tone. “What kind of agent doesn't have a secretary working on Saturday afternoon during March Madness? This is a disgrace.”

They both continued to scan the office before Umbert stumbled out of a pair of glass doubles and into the lobby.

“Welcome, you two,” Umbert said as he spread his hands wide. “I appreciate you making your way down here to talk about this little issue.”

“Little issue?” Kittrell bellowed. “We’re talking about an investigation into what quite possibly was murder, Mr. Umbert. And for one of your clients, no less. Show some respect.”

Umbert offered his hand toward the detective. “Detective Mel Kittrell, I presume?”

Reluctantly, Kittrell took Umbert's hand and shook it without a word.

“I apologize for not being more respectful of the dead, but I can assure you that I have nothing but respect for Sid Westin. He was one of my first clients when I relocated to the Northwest—and one of my best clients, too.”

Kittrell stared at Umbert as their eyes locked. Cal, who stood to Kittrell’s right, understood Umbert’s tone even more so than his words. It was clear that Umbert was laying the groundwork for what would be his defense: Sid Westin was far more valuable to him alive than dead. Kittrell didn't appear to be fazed by the first haymaker landed in what was shaping up to be a tense meeting.

“Gentlemen, let’s proceed inside and get this interview over with,” Cal said. He wasn't used to playing peacemaker but realized it was suddenly a necessary role.

“Shall we?” Umbert said, pivoting and gesturing toward the glass doors behind him.

The three men entered the office. Umbert,